Star Wars Rebels: Mind Tricks
by Ragingceliac
Summary: Malachor V left deep scars on Ezra Bridger... and a connection with a certain former sith. As his fellow crewmates struggle with getting any information on what exactly happened down on Malachor, Ezra struggles to keep his own mind under his control. It will all come to a head in a mission to an abandoned CIS outpost that holds potential schematics for the Empire's newest weapon...
1. Chapter 1: The Game

**Maul was** running out of time. His connection with his to-be apprentice for that night was nearly over. Formed in the ancient fires of the sith's former glory, it was stronger than the one he had had with his own master. Despite this development, the former sith apprentice himself had difficulty entering his apprentice's mind.

The defenses were formidable - more than he expected from a fifteen year-old. Maul knew the youth had more potential than his former jedi mentor realised. Or maybe he knew, but that wouldn't be a factor in his plan, at least not in the major sense.

Maul furrowed his brow, a single droplet of perspiration sliding down his forehead. It completed its journey by slapping down to the floor in between Maul's crossed legs. The former sith didn't register it, instead clenching his open palms and letting them rest atop his knees. His teeth gritted as he slammed his force signature against his apprentice's again. The barriers that had been metaphorically constructed, in the shape of durasteel walls, shook at the contact through the force. The feeling reverberated and Maul felt immediate pushback from the youth. A small smirk began to form on his cracked lips. The youth was learning.

Really, this game of mental slugging was one Maul was assured he would be the victor in. He was simply toying with him; the youth had entered the stage in human existence called "puberty" by the medically minded. It meant the youth's emotions would be in constant turmoil. Fear would mingle with hatred, jealousy, depression, and occasional joy, all to confuse his apprentice. It would weaken his psychic barriers further, and, he'd eventually enter the youth's mind. He'd take the broken, malleable physical and emotional center and make it his own. That came later though, and he had larger banthas to kill.

The connection was fading for the hour, and Maul withdrew his efforts and exited what little imaginary ground he'd gained for now, and opened his eyes. The cabin in his ship, the _Savage,_ was a mess; he didn't notice the objects that had been lifted during the session of mental shock-boxing. Rising from his meditative position on the floor of his cabin, the dampness of his tunic taking by surprise; that hadn't happened before. His apprentice truly was improving.

* * *

Ezra Bridger shot up in his bunk, his head slamming against the durasteel ceiling of his and Zeb's cabin. The youth hissed quietly in response to the pain. Not so much for the pain - he'd dealt with that before - the main problem on and assaulting his mind was Maul. The former sith was relentless in his mental attacks, the connection formed on malachor was, to Ezra, unbreakable no matter how he tried. And he tried.

Sighing to himself, he slid off the bunk soundlessly, ignoring his lasat companion's snores. Taking a spare cloak, he draped it over his shoulders and raised the hood attached to it, the soft, facsimile simmer-silk material feeling warm against his clammy skin. Pulling it tighter around him and reaching out his right hand, he summoned his lightsaber. It was immeasurably weightless in his grip, the handle polished and gleaming in the fluorescent lights of the lights of the _Ghost_.

His footsteps echoed smally in the hallways of the ship, drawing the attention of none of his fellow crew members - his de facto family, by most definitions. At the time though, the last thing Ezra wanted was any contact with other beings. He personally felt the most vulnerable at this time - other than when he took the liberty of rest, if you could call it that - his mental defenses having already exhausted a large portion of his already depleted energy.

His movements stopped for a fraction of a moment when the frigid air of Hoth, the location they were scouting, hit him through his cloak. It didn't bother him much, not with what he'd experienced in his sixteen years of living and two years of serving the rebel alliance. A cause that was feeling increasingly monotonous with every victory, but the youth knew he should appreciate the conditions he was living in, since the improvement was vastly superior to what he first had. He knew he should've appreciated these efforts, and he did, but if it was one thing Ezra Bridger hated it was monotony.

The Jedi to-be slid the cloak from his shoulders, suppressing the shiver that threatened his tranquility with will, setting it behind him. He crossed his legs, straightened his back, and closed his eyes. He took in on frigid breath after another, refusing himself the luxury of anything but the air that was provided by the ice world. His lungs adapted quickly, used to far worse air quality from Lothalian streets. And then it happened. No matter how many times he meditated, the overwhelming feeling of the force opening itself to him caught him off guard.

That wouldn't stop him, not that it ever did in recent times. Ezra didn't know the amount of time that had passed as he replenished his tattered psychic barriers, letting the force heal his wounds, none of which were grievous - yet. That was what worried him. He searched the force for the future and found nothing for a few moments before he was rewarded.

The image was static, like a flimsi photograph, or its hologram cousin, and was utterly confounding: It was him, eyes seeming to have disappeared from their sockets, yet there was no sign of gore at all. A strange green color tinted the image, and he was wearing...nothing? Just as he realised this, the image faded. Ezra probed the force for a few moments more before wrenching his mind from the currents of the force.

His eyes opened slowly, and Hoth's environment assaulted him immediately. He couldn't suppress the shiver that cascaded down his spine. A second did the same as he picked up the cloak, shaking the snow that congregated on it, slid it over his shoulders, and was halfway through raising the hood when he stopped. There was another force signature with him. He had trouble recognising it for a moment when he realised who it was.

Sabine.

The only mandalorian member of the crew and the one his first crush was focused on had been watching him. For how long, he didn't know. In fact, he wasn't aware of remembering opening the boarding ramp of the _Ghost_. He dismissed the thought, assuring himself that he'd done it hundreds of times, and wasn't deemed important enough by his brain to remember.

"Good morning," he said crisply, cocking an eyebrow at the mandalorian, who had leaned herself against one of the landing gears. Sabine didn't react immediately, peering at him with curiosity and a bit of suspicion. When she responded, it was exasperated.

"'Good morning'? It's two AM, Ezra. What's wrong?" The entire statement wasn't that surprising to the teen, considering how he'd been acting; He didn't speak often, staying inside his joint cabin with Zeb, only coming out for meals. And even those weren't the most commonplace. On an average day, it was akin to his living as a thief on Lothal. One meal a day, and a small one at that. And the non force-sensitive crew members of the _Ghost_ were immediately worried.

"I'm fine." Was Ezra's response, and he was nearly up the ramp when he felt a hand tugging at his arm.

"Ezra, stop it. This won't help. Starving yourself won't, and neither will avoiding us. It'll only make things worse. Talk to us - we care about you." Ezra's shoulders tensed at the statement; it was about what he expected from her, considering that neither him or Kanan had yet to divulge any mission details bar the obvious. He also was sure that explaining it would open a whole other can of worms.

"Y-you wouldn't understand. I just need time." The youth responded sadly, his azure eyes looking more dead and lifeless than they had in months. Sabine glared.

" _What_ wouldn't I understand?" She snapped, "I've seen - done - more than you have; I've seen war. I can empathize."

"Have you ever been afraid to sleep?" Ezra murmured quietly, causing the eyes that glared to shift uncomfortably.

"What?"

Ezra didn't bother to respond, turning on his heel and striding to the cockpit of the _Ghost_. He slumped down in the seat, squirming slightly as he tried to get comfortable. Eventually he succeeded, and felt his eyelids growing heavy. A pleasureable feeling descended upon the youth, before he snapped up. He couldn't fall asleep - too many chances for Maul to attack him. He rose from the seat and headed to his and Zeb's cabin, retrieving the sith holocron from Malachor and finding a shadowed spot in the cargo bay. He set the holocron on the floor in front of him. He sat down across from it and crossed his legs. Hesitation ruled his emotional state at that moment.

 **AN: I thank god for Hamilton. That musical's music is what helped me power through this. I don't know when I'll be updating this story next, I just guarente a wait. I'm currently working on "Bonds Of Steel" for the moment and it'll probably be several weeks before I'm finished with it. Might post chapters to this story, I don't know. Any reviews/follows/favorites would be duly noted. I'll see you next time. - Raging Celiac.**


	2. Chapter 2: Thoughts

**Ezra sat** , the holocrons eerie ruby light painting his features in an unsettling way. His hands were clasped over his knees, as if to hold them down. Part of him screamed to leave, turn tail and run out of the cargo bay. He quickly dismissed the thought. He reached out with the force vaguely, a small hope to open the holocron.

He brushed his force signature against it, causing one of the symbols that snaked up the holocrons sides to glow more than the rest. The object, to an outside observer, would seem possessed. In a way, it was; each holocron - jedi or sith - contained a gatekeeper, an AI representation of the holocrons creator, in hologram form. Said AI had a program giving it de facto consciousness comparable to that of its creator. Not only that, holocrons were endlessly complex, only the most powerful masters of the light or dark being able to create them.

Ezra knew these tenants by heart, having them drilled into him by his master. It was a basic overview of the structure of a holocron, and one that Ezra had hoped, in vain, would allow him to unearth the sith artifact's secrets. How wrong he was.

The youth continued to skid around the faultlines the holocron made in the force, brushing his force signature against the holocrons, a process that bewildered him no end. How could an inanimate object hold such power? It was, to most, an unbreakable pyramid of information, inside and out. Yet for those that connected to the force, it was unbreakable in a metaphoric sense as well. Ezra made a more daring move by pressing his force signature against the center of the faultlines from the holocron, causing his teeth to grit. Perspiration began to journey down his forehead.

Despite this, or perhaps out of pure teenage stubbornness, Ezra continued. He slammed his force signature against that of the holocron, giving up any subtlety, earning immediate pushback. His teeth began to grind. A little further. His breathing began to rise exponentially. At little further…

Ezra snapped. His efforts, though valiant, bore no fruit as he opened his eyes. His chest rose and fell slowly, and he felt fatigue spread throughout his frame and mind, making the force as a healer for this irrelevant. He began breathing exercises his master had taught him to calm nerves, and while not as effective as they could have been, they helped a bit. In minutes Ezra had steadied his breaths to a slow, benign pace, and took his first notice of the state of his clothing.

It felt damp, as did his hair - well, what he didn't shave off - the cropped locks weren't sopping, but certainly were not the most comfortable. The sickly sensation of sweat in his armpits didn't help, nor did the stench even he could smell. As the youth rose, he picked the holocron from the durasteel floor of the cargo bay, glancing at it when the artifact twitched slightly in his palm. His eyebrows cocked at the object, as if t it would provide him any answers. When it didn't, he headed back to his and Zeb's cabin, slipping the holocron and his lightsaber in the dufflebag at the end of his bunk. Grabbing a fresh pair of military-gray trousers and a lighter shaded top, he headed to the communal showers of the _Ghost_.

He found the area empty, as he'd expected, and stripped out of his jumpsuit, setting the orange article outside of the shower. Slipping inside, he turned it on and gave a small, satisfied sigh as the water cascaded down his body. The droplets were just right; warm enough without being overly so.

Ezra didn't know how long he spent in the small slice of heaven, he just judged by the wrinkles his fingers were attaining that he should leave it. And, with a small sigh, he exited the shower. He turned it off with the force, causing his knees to feel slightly weak. The youth frowned. That was worrying. Ezra shook his head, spreading water across the floor and walls on the communal. His midnight-blue locks, only minutes prior having been neatly groomed now tickled the back of his neck. He ignored it, instead heading to Kanan's quarters. Just as he got to the door, he froze. While Kanan was on medical leave on Yavin IV, he'd given his quarters to his apprentice. Though Ezra had accepted, he refused to use them, which only raised more questions from his crewmates.

He'd brushed them off under the premise of them not understanding, having promised he'd tell them in due time. That promise was spur-of-the moment, and Ezra regretted it hindsight, but it had been made, and he knew none of his crewmates would let it go. Especially Sabine. The mandalorian was relentless, never missing a chance to question him on it. Of course, these inquiries were always polite, just a hint of nervousness along with firmness to assert the question in his mind. But he found them tiring.

It was making him increasingly weary, only mounting stress on him. Granted, he didn't blame them. They were only aware of the obvious; Ahsoka not returning, Kanan being blinded, and, of course, the thing that intrigued them the most - the holocron. As the only crew member to have a connection to the force remaining, they would inquire often when he'd head off to a clandestine location in the _Ghost_ to try to open it. Hera was the one to do that the most, with Sabine more interested in what exactly happened on Malachor, while Zeb left him alone to his devices.

Ezra was sure Kanan had told Hera to keep an eye on him with the holocron. He was glad that Kanan had realised that he'd find the holocron eventually, and that hiding it would be pointless. Keeping it with him would put it in the hands of the rebellion, and if they found Yavin IV, the empire would have access to it.

So, he was left as the artifact's sole guardian, and used methods of secrecy he'd mastered over years as a street rat on lothal again. In fact he'd been digging himself into the

same social hole he'd been in when he first arrived on the _Ghost_.

Taking a deep, languid breath, he entered Kanan's cabin. His eyes scanned the room, noting the location of each and every item Kanan had left behind, in the same spots he'd left them in. Striding the length of the room, Ezra bent down and heaved a small, unmarked crate containing probe droids specialized for blaster deflection. The very same ones Kanan had taught him with.

As swiftly as he could, Eza left the cabin and headed once more to the cargo bay. Setting the crate in the center of the cargo bay, he opened it, sliding the top over the side and cupping one of the probe droids. Flicking a switch near the droids thruster, and tossed it into the air. The droid's balancing protocols immediately went to work, stabilizing it. Ezra reached to his belt before realising he'd left his lightsaber in his duffle bag.

Sighing to himself, he made the monotonous journey to his and Zeb's cabin, retrieved his lightsaber and made his way back to the cargo bay. The droid was still hovering in the same spot he left it, and rotated slightly as he came nearer to it. When he was less than two feet away, he activated his blade, smiling slightly at the familiar _snap hiss_ the weapon made as it activated.

The blade of the lightsaber was a rare gold, illuminating his face in a calming, serene light that made Ezra feel safe. The weapon was his life, and he was proud of its construction, having taken him two weeks to complete. The material was polished, light durasteel and its power source was a centralized cell that would last for years before needing replacement. The droid darted to Ezra's left and he raised the blade, letting the force guide his hand.

He blocked the bolt with ease and closed his eyes. His feet instinctively took the basic stance of form III, soresu. He felt relaxation spread through his consciousness. He needed this.

 **AN: Okay, first things first: the reaction to this story has been amazing. Seriously. It took me ten weeks and 11 chapters to get one third of the reviews this story already has. I'm not complaining, I'm just noting it. So I decided to give you another chapter. Any reviews/follows/favorites will be duly noted - Raging Celiac**


	3. Chapter 3: Pax Romana, In a Sense

**+Mat-neema; 2:01 am galactic standard time; Outpost Quadri**

Pax lifted his carbine, an old DC-11 from the clone wars, and flicked off the safety with an ominous _click._ The rifle was one of the few things he could call his; coming from a poor upbringing, his parents enlisted him in Mat-neema's imperial military academy at an early age.

While he at first detested it, he came to accept his fate and, if you could believe it, came to almost _enjoy_ it.

The comradery of the military was alien to him, having been a social outcast for the majority of his nineteen years. In the 114th infantry corps however, he found solace and friends in the searing lasers and rocks of Mat-neema's lone moon; it had been a rebel cell before his unit was sent in to sweep away the remnants of it after a barrage from Mat-neema's requisitioned patrol fleet.

The fighting had been his first, and he adapted quickly. His unit had been separated from the main force of 20,000 troops sent to take the moon back. Nervous, socially awkward, and poor Pax Ryne had lead his unit back to the main force through the moon's barren surface without any officers or their noncommissioned inferiors. This had gained him an order of the emperor, an accolade given to troops that displayed notable courage. Something he certainly did.

Promoted to corporal, he was a minor celebrity among his division. Now he was on a similar assignment to another rebel cell. Self-contained and ragtag, it was a mere shadow of the first cell on Mat-neema's moon. Despite this, it had been spreading chaos, so, his division was sent in.

Footsteps to his rear caused Pax to glance back, ignoring the slight unconformity of his helmet. A trooper, in similar armor to his own, though it was pockmarked by laser burns and dust. The trooper was in full sprint, the DC-11 they held was hanging loosely from their right hand. Several of his comrades looked to him with worry as the trooper came to a panting halt in front of him.

"Sir!" they breathed, snapping their left arm to the section of their helmet that covered their forehead. "We've found them, sir!" Pax's left brow arched behind his helmet.

"Why are you telling me this?" he inquired, more curious than irritated. The trooper's shoulders suggested relief.

"Captain Qyn has an assignment for you, Sir." the trooper informed him. Pax nodded.

"Thank you, trooper. Take five," Pax ordered, and the trooper gave a weary nod.

"Thank you, sir." the trooper said, and with one final salute, they limped toward the makeshift medical station Pax had been guarding. Just as Pax motioned for his squad of five, including him, five more took their place at the breastwork of imperial barricades. Once Pax's troops were moving, one of them asked:

"So Pax, what do think this mission is gonna be?" The voice came from the squad's newest member, Valkor. Valkor was only eighteen, barely acceptable service age, and boundlessly curious and energetic. Pax shook his head.

"I don't know Val, I don't know." was all he said. Valkor, for his part, took the statement not with his trademark eagerness, but with solemn contemplation. Pax felt a tingle of uneasiness; the last time Valkor had acted like that the transport they were on was shot down. He prayed the same wouldn't repeat itself.

The group of five marched through the impromptu base for the operation with discipline that bespoke of their position. When they reached the command tent, Captain Qyn was there to meet them.

"Corporal Ryne," the captain saluted the squad, and gave a small smile as his troops did the same. Unlike many imperial officers, he wasn't arrogant, having worked his way through the ranks over ten years of service.

"Sir!" the squad said in unison, gaining an approving nod from their captain.

"Corporal, I trust the march wasn't too eventful?" he asked Pax, who shook his head. Qyn nodded and motioned for a technician to activate a hologram model of the city the imperials were in.

"Now, why I requested you; we have located the rebel cell's main base, but it is heavily fortified. The squads we sent there are bogged down and need assistance. I want your squad to go through the sewers here," he pointed to a manhole that was illuminated in red. "Expect fierce resistance - these rebels aren't weaklings," Pax nodded, having guessed similarly earlier that rotation. The captain gave a crisp salute to the squad.

"Good hunting," Pax turned, and his troops did the same shortly after, forming a line out of practiced precision. Pax felt a smile spread across his face; he trained them well.

* * *

The stench of uncleansed sewage and waste assaulted his nostrils soon after his squad entered the sewer. His boots made sickening sounds as they impacted the mud and watery trash of the wretched waste dump. At this moment he would've expected a quip from Valkor, but none came. Another twinge of unease spread through Pax's psyche.

His eyes roamed the sewer's walls, the brown orbs searched for any sign of fortification or tampering, and found none. Five minutes later and still his squad had encountered nothing.

 _Splash._

Pax's shoulders tensed; that hadn't come from his men, he was sure.

"Safeties off, boys," he said, and a chorus of clicking rung throughout the sewer. The squad continued their march, rifles held in tighter grips than in previous moments. They reached a blast door and two barricades made out of scrap durasteel - a pumping station. At that moment Valkor spoke up,

"Sir, I have a bad fee-" a green laser tore through his throat before he could finish his sentence. The now group of four spun around to see faint ozone wafting from a corner. Pax raised his carbine fired in a deadly calm. The red bolt hit home above the rebel's heart, and a soft moan and clatter as they dropped their rifle to the ground in pain.

"Defensive positions, now!" Pax darted to one of the barricades, and another of his troops joined him there. The other two made a beeline for the remaining barricade, both making it.

"Suo, Contact command! We've found rebels! They have cloaking equipment!" he shouted to the tech, who shouted back,

"Yes sir!" Pax gave a grim nod and peeked out from his cover; the rebels had deactivated their cloaking, showing clothing patterned after the sewer itself. Pax mentally swore and fired blind bolt towards the rebel's general direction. A chorus of retreating feet reached Pax's ears and he smiled bitterly. These rebels were going to play hard to get, eh? Well he was good at catching.

The trooper next to him, Farad, raised his rifle over the barricade and fired, a terrified screech echoing throughout the sewer a second later. _Not so tough now, are you?_ He thought savagely.

Lasers of all colors danced across the no-mans-land Pax's squad had created. A kaleidoscope of bolts singed the walls of the sewer, marking it akin to a sloppily applied tattoo. The rebels, though outnumbering them two-to-one, had difficulty getting a shot at any of Pax's squad. The stormtroopers responded to the rebel's lasers with their own brand of hellfire and brimstone, and they slowly began to pick off the rebels that had ambushed them. The group of ten was forced into a desperate race to find cover. Fire from the imperials forced them to take anything they could find; piles of trash, outlying sewer wall, and even the dead bodies of their comrades. So was the sheer tenacity of Pax's men.

The exchange of fire continued in a staccato rhythm for several minutes before disaster struck. The blast door behind them opened, and with it came fifteen rebels, armed each with DC-11's of their own. Pax spun around, switching his carbine to fully automatic as he did so. He got five bolts out; three went wide, permanently marking the wall behind the blastdoor. The fourth seared through a rebel's kidney, while the fifth cut through the slender neck of the only rodian rebel of the 15. Not a second later three bolts struck him in his right thigh, his heart, and his cheek respectively. Pax collapsed to the ground, his squad's screams of shock and surprise flavored with pain reaching his good ear.

Pax hadn't expected to die this day, nor in this way. Yet he did. His squad - all of them - were led into a massacre. He didn't blame Qyn, the order was tactically sound. How could he had known the rebels would be using cloaking devices? Or have these types of forces? He couldn't.

Pax felt himself ebbing away, but it wasn't as violent as he expected. It felt...calming. The sounds of the outside world were muffled, making the pain Pax felt at the loss of his squad easier to handle. The pain eventually faded, too, along with his hearing, and the few pleasant memories he had flashed in his eyes. With a final, small breath, Pax Ryne bled out. the grip on his DC-11 slackened, and it made scant noise as it touched the sewer's permacrete floor. his eyes flicked over to Farad, who lay spread-eagled adjacent to him. for a brief moment, behind their helmets, their eyes met. The pair of orbs were the last things the stormtroopers saw. In Pax's last moments, a single fraise reached his good ear:

"Agent Kar, Prepare for the worst."

 **AN: This chapter got slightly dark, didn't it? I'm debating whether to bump the rating up to T. Tell me what you think. Any follows/favorites will be, as always, duly noted - Raging Celiac**


	4. Chapter 4: Agent Of Rebellion

" **Agent Kar** , prepare for the worst." the statement, while making little sense to the stormtrooper squad that lay on their backs, sent waves of unease to a young man it was directed towards. The man, though his features, so pure and full of unrelenting hope, looked no more than a boy. In some ways, those who assumed so would be correct; with a round complexion and unblemished face, along with shaggy amber hair that was in dire need of a groom, painted a picture that emanated youthful hope and optimism.

The young man, turning to the voice, gave a small, curt nod.

"I just need a few moments, lieutenant," he said with weariness that he had no right to, "I just need a few more." he finished, though the end was more directed to himself than the group guarding. The lieutenant gave a short salute, something that shouldn't of surprised Kar, but did. Most of the rebels he'd been dealing with gave no more after the mandatory.

Kar, or more correctly Kar Ogettson, was an rebel alliance intelligence officer, the only remaining of his cell. The rest had died on the accursed planet's satellite, entrusting him with a chillingly useful piece of information. It was a file that currently resided on his chrono, along with others he found no use for at the moment. The empire had found them, and he was running out of time. The blastdoor closed behind him as the soldiers exited, leaving him to his work. If you would call desperate and half-panicked machinations of an eighteen year-old work.

The sound of the blastdoor slamming down on the sewer he called home resulted in a heavy sigh from the young man. The section of the sewer was in, a pumping station, had been converted into a makeshift information hub only days earlier. Only housing one person with any capability of using it properly, Kar thought the effort slightly overzealous. Nonetheless, he approached the main monitor, tapping his chrono and heard a chipper beep from the device as it successfully linked to the larger machine. Kar's finger was inching toward the file he wanted when the very ground beneath him shook.

Caught off balance, he stumbled slightly, regaining his balance a moment later. He activated his comlink and asked, with pronounced worry in his voice,

"What's going on out there?!" Kar inquired into the comlink, just as the ground under him shook again.

" _The 'imps are using artillery - they really want us dead."_ Kar felt a shiver cascade down his spine; the empire was killing _civilians_ just to get to them. Because of him. Not entirely, but he certainly played his part. Kar brushed the thought away, instead retrieving the file from his chrono and transferring it. Now came the hard part. _How to get it to the alliance,_ he thought.

Kar bit his lower lip; he had a few different options. The first was to simply encrypt it and cross his fingers, which didn't appeal overmuch. The second was to put it on a ship and send to Yavin IV, which actually wasn't that far away - only a few thousand light-years. The third...the third involved a droid, and _that_ certainly wasn't appealing at all. Kar mulled it over, biting his lip until it was bleeding lightly.

" _Kar, If you're gonna do something, do it fa-arghh!"_ Kar blinked as his comlink sprang to life with audio, and he glanced at the blastdoor; it was unmarked and unopened - for the moment. Kar's gaze flicked back to the main console, then back to the door again. The pattern repeated itself a few times before Kar made his decision. Approaching the main console, he typed furiously, drawing up the file and encrypting it hastily with basic code before activating the "laser-burn" function of the console, rapping his fingers impatiently on the keyboard of it, springing to action as a small disc emerged from a slot in it.

Taking the disc and holding close to his chest, Kar sprinted out of the pump station and practically slammed his palm against the button restraining the door in front of him. The door's _hiss_ as it slid to the side was scant heard by Kar, who sped past various rebels heading out to fight the imperials at their. The gazes he drew were in awe at his swiftness, when pushed by panic, Kar could move pretty kriffing fast. He was halfway to his destination when he felt an armored hand press against his chest.

"Slow down, son. What's going on?" kar glanced up to see the cell's leader, a kindly man named Fritz - or at least that's what he called himself, in a rebellion actual names were a rare commodity - stopped him. Kar's steel-blue eyes met Fritz's brown pair and Kar took a deep breath.

"Ineedtogetthistotheallianceitconatinsinformationthatcouldpotentiallysaveit," Fritz shook his head.

"Slow down, son. Repeat that for me, will you?" Kar nodded a few deep gulps of air, making his nerves calm a bit.

"This disc - it contains information that could potentially save the alliance." Fritz nodded slowly "I need to get this to their base; I need on of your fighters with hyperdrive capability." Kar requested, his expression making it clear this as the only plan he had. Fritz stroked his beard thoughtfully before responding,

"I happen to have one - its an old prototype from the clone wars, but it should suffice." He offered, earning a sigh of relief from the intelligence officer before him.

"Thank you, sir. I won't let you down." Fritz smiled ruefully.

"Pity we were found so soon; we could've done plenty with people like you," He said, reaching for the rifle on his back, "But, now is the time to fight. I'll have a pilot waiting for you. Now go." Kar didn't need telling twice.

He sidestepped Fritz and made a beeline for the base's hangar. His feet carried him with steely and frantic resolve, slapping against the permacrete foundation of the rebel base. His mind was frantic, unendingly worried that the ship wouldn't be there, or the pilot wouldn't have arrived in time. Or any number of details could go wrong. When he saw that everything had gone according, he smiled. The pilot motioned for him to board the vessel, which was shaped suspiciously like two cones and cylinder attached to each other. Kar rushed on board the ship, darting into the cockpit and settling himself in the copilots seat. The pilot who motioned him inside was grinning despite the situation.

"Did someone stick a death stick up your ass? 'Cause you move faster than anyone I've ever seen." the voice had definite feminine inflection to it, with an accent Kar couldn't quite place. Kar was about to affirm that they need to leave when the fighter shook, making his statement for him. The pilot's hands immediately began to fly across the ship's main console, and it bucked then rose in seconds. Kar barely had time to strap himself to his seat before he was sent slamming into the back of the copilot's chair, he reached for the belt attached to it and took a single, deep breath as it clicked before the ship bucked once more.

Kar would've complained, but he was too frozen by fear to even attempt something like that.

* * *

The entire journey out of Mat-neema was a stressful blur to Kar,and when they reached hyperspace, He let out a fifteen-minute long breath. The pilot turned to him, a small smirk across her features.  
"Well that was fun, wasn't it?" she said sarcastically, brushing a few amber locks away from her eyes, "By the way, what _is_ that disc holding? The way ol Fritz was talking about it that thing was holding Munn's heart." Kar felt a small smile tugging at the ends of his mouth.

"I don't know if it's safe to talk about it here," he said, leaning back slightly in him seat. The pilot snorted,

"'I don't know if it's safe to talk about it here'? There is no way _anyone_ \- 'imp or not - could hear us. So really, what's in it?" Kar sighed heavily at that, fatigue spreading throughout his frame from the day's events.

"Honestly? It has the location for the plans of a new superweapon for the empire." He said wearily, crossing his arms and letting out a obnoxiously loud yawn. The pilot's eyebrow arched.

"Really?" Kar shook his head in irritation.

"Yes. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to find a bunk and collapse." Kar said, but soon realised his shortness and added, "Oh, and thank you for taking me in; you might've just given us a three when we had a zero and a two in sabacc," He finished, shouting the last part over his shoulder. The pilot nodded and headed settled back to into the pilot's seat.

Kar found a bunk and collapsed onto it, sleep finding him before he hit the mattress.

 **AN: A little late, but because of the my mistake earlier today, I decided to make another chapter. I promise this story will get back to the** _ **Ghost**_ **crew soon, I predict another chapter or at least a half of one devoted to Kar. I need to develop a plot after all. ;)**

 **Any reviews/favorites/ follows will be duly noted (I'll try to come up with some other catch phrase for the end of my author's notes, at same point. ;]) - Raging Celiac**


	5. Chapter 5: New Cards

**Kar was** ripped from his slumber by a static-flavored voice.

" _This Yavin IV. Unidentified vessel, please identify."_ Kar opened his eyes with bleariness at the voice, or more accurately, the ship's intercom system. The voice, despite the static which flavored it, held the same military discipline he was used to from the troops main rebel base. It mattered little to the intelligence officer the system awoke; the young man took his legs and swung them over the edge of the cot, the pair of feet burning against the cold durasteel of the ship he rode. It was at that moment Kar realised he didn't know what the ship was _called,_ let alone all of its functions. Straightening his slumped back, Kar rose, ignoring the _pop_ of each of his spine's vertebrae.

Running a few cold-to-the-touch fingers through his hair, the intelligence officer let out a yawn that echoed around the ship, earning him a dirty look from the pilot. Kar, of course, didn't realise this, too drowsy to identify such things. He realised halfway to the cockpit that he was walking without any footwear. Turning sluggishly, he eventually found his standard-issue combat boots on the floor several feet away from the cot he rested on. Bending over, and ignoring the stabs of pain his spine rewarded him with, he picked up the dust-caked articles and slipped them over his feet. The boots _clicked_ and _clacked_ against the polished floor of the prototype vessel.

The trip to the cockpit was one Kar used to truly examine the ship; rusted chairs with moth-eaten cushions stood at their vigils in before various consoles, some on, most not. Those that were on mainly had fuel or power consumption statistics on their displays, something that Kar normally would've taken interest in, but didn't, promising himself he'd do so later. With his half-awake inquires on the ship finished, Kar reached the cockpit and said a bleary 'Hello' that drew the pilot's attention. Her upper lip curved into a wolfish grin.

"Have a good sleep?" She said, grey eyes mischievously gleaming. Kar didn't notice this.

"Yeah, fi-" His 'Fine' turned into a shriek of terror as the ship tilted violently to the left, sending him crashing into the side of the copilot's chair. The Pilot's sharp chuckles of amusement caused him to glare.

"You did that on purpose!" he accused, sounding like a child disturbed. The pilot laughed again.

"You needed to wake up, kid. Mon Mothma wants to meet with you," She said, causing Kar's glare to morph into a displeased grimace.

"'Could've done it in a better way," he muttered, his irritation only rising when the pilot responded,

"Would you rather have me splash some water on that bush on your head?" She quipped. Kar would've retorted, but thought better of it. In light of how the pilot had been acting doing so probably wouldn't serve him well. Instead the intelligence officer opted for a dignified silence. The pilot's mouth still held a smile of amusement when the pair touched down on a landing pad. Kar saw several rebels fan out the ship, all armed with E-11 blaster rifles. What Kar assumed was an officer, based on the yellow bars adorning his collar, stepped into the ship as the boarding ramp descended.

Two rebel troopers - corporals or sergeants, by Kar's estimation - flanked him, each carrying an E-11 of their own, in opposition to the officer's blas-tech DL-22 blaster pistol. High-powered and customizeable, it was popular among rebellion officers - Kar himself owned for a time, but he never needed to use it. It was still tucked inside his uniform, as a matter of fact. The officer approached the cockpit just as Kar turned his chair and rose, snapping to attention before the man. The officer quirked an eyebrow.

"Identify yourself," he ordered simply, and he felt a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth when Kar said,

"Intelligence officer Kar Ogettson, sir." Kar stood at full attention, his discipline and rigidness of his stance making the rebellion officer give a nod of approval.

"At ease, son. Where's the rest of your unit?" The officer inquired, causing Kar's mouth to go momentarily dry; he hadn't thought about the rest of his unit - the 15th intelligence division - much since they made the ultimate sacrifice. He had pushed the memories of his friends away in his work and panic, and now they were coming full force onto him. Kar felt his eyes water.

"T-they're dead, sir. I'm the only survivor," The officer's eyes held empathy.

"Take as long as you need, son." He said, putting a hand on Kar's shoulder, "The ship seems to check out, so you can stay as long as you want." Kar nodded and slipped past the officer, flattening himself on the cot once more. He made no sound as he wept.

* * *

About an hour later Kar was standing in the main room for the Alliance To Restore the Republic. Usually a buzz of activity and consoles running the most recent holonet and rebellion statistics, it was almost devoid of any being. With only the rebellion's key leaders and a small corps of the rebellion's best and most loyal forces. Kar felt anxious as he spoke.

"My cell - the cell that was on Mat-neema - has been destroyed. But I'm sure you already knew that," The young man said, the heat rising in him becoming more pronounced at the gazes leveled at him, "I, and the pilot that flew me over here, are the only survivors." a nod came from senator Bail Organa.

"A tragic loss, and one that I hope wasn't in vain." the senator said, several of his colleagues nodded in agreement. Kar took a breath.

"the 15th intelligence division was decimated on Mat-neema's moon - I am the only remaining member." Kar paused, then continued. "Before they died, Captain Maryk uploaded a file onto my chrono," Kar raised his right arm, the device activating as he did so. "It was something we found while digging through old imperial files; it, and the data disc I gave when I arrived here, contain the location of an abandoned CIS outpost that as schematics for a possible super weapon - codenamed 'Mors Stellata'." Mon Mothma shook her head.

"What does that mean?" She inquired. Kar shuddered smally, causing expressions of apprehension to spread across several faces in the room.

"Death Star."

Silence reigned in the room before Bail Organa spoke up again,

"What do the schematics say of the weapon's capabilities?" He asked, regretting the question immediately as Kar's face went grim.

"I don't know, senator."

* * *

Ezra ignited his lightsaber, smirking smally at the weapon's _snap hiss_. The stormtroopers wouldn't know what hit them. He saw Zeb's face sporting a smirk, as well. Ezra's feet carried him to the point the stormtroopers saw the youth as no more than a blur. Ezra reached the first one and sent a kick to their helmet, cringing slightly at the moan that came afterward. Nonetheless, he continued on. Ruby bolts flew past the jedi to-be, accomplishing nothing to stop him. Ezra plunged his golden blade into a trooper's chest, paying no heed to their agony.

The trooper adjacent to the one he impaled fired, the bolt getting deflected with casual ease. At another time, Ezra would've had to focus to block it. At another time, he wouldn't've killed. Those time was no more. Twirling away from the stormtrooper's second shot, Ezra deflected the third and sent his blade horizontally through their neck. Their head rolled to the ground, eerily silent. The third, and final trooper threw their hands up, shouting:

"Okay, you've got us, jedi! I surrender!" Ezra's pace slowed, and he approached the trooper, menace emanating from him, hate motivating the action. ZEb and Sabine exchanged glances and began to raise their weapons. The golden blade dipped slightly, and in the dim lighting of the warehouse, Ezra's eyes almost appeared golden. When he was stabbing distance away, he raised the blade to neck level.

 _Do it._

Ezra's blade dipped again. That kriffing voice again. It seemed to have taken leave of him. He was wrong. At that moment Ezra realised what he'd almost done; he'd nearly executed what was now a prisoner. His gaze flicked over to Zeb and Sabine, who had each of their respective weapons raised not at the trooper, but at _him_. With the anger and power draining, Ezra deactivated his lightsaber, shame and horror flooding him.

"I-i'm sorry." he mumbled, more to Zeb and Sabine than the trooper. Affixing the blade to his hip, Ezra approached the barrels of fuel they came for and heaved it up, and headed to the _Phantom_.

* * *

About forty five minutes later ezra sat in the common room of the _Ghost_ , kneeling infront of a hologram of Kanan.

"Tell me what happened, Ezra." The hologram said, its tone more worried than reprimanding. Ezra sucked in a breath and said,

"I-i don't know what happened, master. I was using what you taught me; form III, IV, but when I approached the final trooper...I don't remember clearly." The hologram shifted in disapproval.

"Yes you do. Tell me _exactly_ what happened, Ezra." Ezra's head drooped in shame.

"I felt...anger - _hatred_ \- I wanted kill the trooper like I've never felt before. Then this voice told me _Do it_. At that point, I realised what I'd done and the power just...faded." Ezra knew the explanation wasn't very believable, judging by hologram-Kanan's crossed arms, he found it the exact same way. The hologram sighed.

"Well...I've heard worse. Just remember the exercises I taught you. And I want you to do them in the common room, so I'll know if you did them or not. Okay?" Ezra nodded.

"Thank you, master. I'll do exactly as you ask." At that the hologram switched off, and Ezra got up off his knees and straightened his back, heading to his joint cabin with Zeb. On the way he passed Sabine, who's face suggested questions, but if the mandalorian had any, she kept them to herself. Ignoring the _hiss_ of the cabin door as it slid out of his way, Ezra laid down on his bunk, not even bothering to put away his lightsaber.

* * *

On another ship a being called home, the _Savage,_ its sole occupant sensed the youth's slumber and grinned evilly; It was time for another round.

 **AN: Yeah...I think this story has earned it's T rating. Oh well. It won't get** _ **too**_ **dark. Yet. ;)**

 **Since I haven't thought up a different outro, any reviews/follows/favorites will be duly noted. - Raging Celiac**


	6. Chapter 6: Breaking Point

**Maul smiled** cruelly as he detected his apprentice falling into sleep. Well, _sleep_ was probably the incorrect term, considering what Maul did when his apprentice fell into it's embrace. Maul calmly approached his personal cabin on the _Savage,_ entering the room with cold, defined purpose. These mental sessions with his apprentice were becoming evermore draining with each pass, taking ever increasing tribute from his reserve of energy.

Ezra, though Maul despised to call him as such, held surprisingly tenacious mental barricades. Though, if Maul was being true to himself, he should've expected such; the boy did grow in the streets, after all. Street-grown tenacity considered, Maul should've prepared for this mental war of attrition beforehand. Alas, he didn't.

Maul was in a meditative stance by this point, his hands clasped over his knees and his back slightly slouched. A position that didn't lend itself well to the aging dathomirian. Still, pain was an integral part of any sith's career, and every dagger of pain was one more to strengthen him. He would teach these lessons to Ezra when he broke, and he would, in time. Maul made his first cautious jabs at the youth's mental barricades.

They were still the same durasteel walls they'd been for the past week, though with a few more cracks this time around.

And so began the dance.

Maul slammed his force signature against the walls, holding back. The mental barricades shook, but held steadfast. Maul felt discomfort on Ezra's end of their bond. The former sith was preparing another assault when his apprentice struck back. This strike came in the form of arrows, something Maul hadn't expected; most were grounded in the present, only focusing on history that went back a few hundred years. Maul of course, was an exception, having studied the history of weapons back to the Rakatan Infinite Empire. Then force-imbued blades of steel were the killers, along with poor hygiene. Back then the Zell's ancestors were taking their first steps on the land of Coruscant - back when it had land, of didn't think of a time when civilisations used objects that flung metal at each other over resources.

So the Lothalian's knowledge of such weaponry was unexpected - unplanned for. But, like many aspects of Ezra Bridger, it was. The counterattack did little to dispel the dathomirian, who continued to batter the durasteel walls the teen had conjured without relent. Minutes, hours, to both time lacked a meaning during the mental slugging match. Ezra was constantly repairing his mental shields, delaying the inevitable. It was inevitable, after all. What hope did the youth have of leaving these mental sessions the victor?

After immeasurable effort, Maul broke through. The former sith didn't revel in his victory; he had an advantage, and he'd learned to use those whenever possible against his apprentice. Maul plunged deeper. A few memories flashed through Maul's mind, though they were mostly images that soon flickered out. The youth he was facing attempted more defence, but these were miserable failures. Ezra didn't give up hope, setting impromptu barriers whenever he could, in hopes of slowing the former sith's rampage through his mind. Maul brushed these off at every turn, not realising his apprentice's true intention for these barricades before he went past the point of no return. The situation wasn't particularly grim, at least not for Maul, he could simply keep tearing the barriers down, but each sapped more of his energy reserve.

Maul grimaced in approval of the tactics. The youth knew when he was beaten, and instead opted to fight a mental guerrilla war against him. How clever of the boy. Maul stopped his advances, looking at what he'd gained and smirking - psychically and physically. Using what memories he had access to, he sent waves of loneliness and despair from Ezra's past to the boy, who stopped preparing mental barricades when they hit. The rebel let out a low moan when the waves arrived, waking his cabin mate, Zeb. The lasat rose at the noise, before shaking his head and turning away from his loud friend and letting sleep overtake him once more. If only he knew what was happening to him.

Maul continued directing waves to the boy, sending ones of happiness occasionally, only to snuff them out with cold despair a moment later. Maul felt the boy begin to weep, as images of his parents getting taken away appeared from the cynicism and independence Ezra had buried them in.

* * *

Zeb awoke, for the second time that night, to the sound of Ezra. Not specifically Ezra, mainly the low moans and weeping sounds emanating from him. The lasat attempted to shut these machinations out, at first turning away from them, and then covering his ears with his pillow. None of his subsequent actions prevailed, and the lasat eventually gave up, instead rising from his cot and approaching Ezra's with apprehension. He reached a tentative hand to the boy's shoulder, the only response he got was a low, almost inaudible,

"Make it stop…" Zeb was now sure he was dealing with a nightmare. They'd been common enough when Ezra first arrived on the _Ghost,_ reaching their crescendo after Ezra was almost taken by the fifth and seventh inquisitors. After that, they'd died out. And now it seemed they were back. Zeb shook the youth's shoulders - another mumble. He shook them again. Another mumble, this time louder. Zeb, apprehension gripping him, shook the shoulders once more. Ezra's frame froze. Completely. His breathing, along with Zeb's, hitched, though for vastly separate reasons.

Zeb shook Ezra's shoulders and asked,

"Kid, you fine?" No response. This wasn't good. With fear rising, Zeb slapped Ezra across the cheek.

"Kid! Wake up!" Ezra didn't move. Zeb felt panic replacing fear at this point. He slapped Ezra again, shaking his shoulders violently.

"Kid, wake up goddamnit! Wake up!" Zeb's voice was a near roar. He was unaware of the simultaneous pneumatic hisses as Sabine and Hera emerged from their cabins, heading the direction of Zeb's shouts.

"Kid! Wake. The. Kriff. UP!" Still no response from the boy. Zeb had his hand raised when Ezra let out an ear-splitting shriek. It was unlike anything Zeb had heard before; it was primal, without thought or foresight - _animal_. It wasn't a cry for a particular being, it was an utterly terrified shout that gave no justice to what Ezra was really experiencing. Zeb's movements froze while the remaining crew members actions took on a panicked fervor. Ezra's eyes snapped open, filled with senseless terror that made Zeb take several steps back. The boy was certainly alive now. Ezra didn't move, instead having his eyes roam the room before they settled on his lasat roommate.

The blue orbs were those of cornered prey, which Ezra certainly was at the moment, in a metaphorical sense. The door to the pair's cabin opened to reveal the remaining members of the crew, both in half-dressed disarray. Sabine's gaze flicked over to Zeb before leveling itself at Ezra. The jedi to-be was in complete and utter disorganization; his hair was a mess, his jumpsuit was soaking sweat, as was his brow, and he looked nothing like the he was only hours earlier. Hera asked Zeb a shaken,

"What happened?"

* * *

Maul withdrew from the teen's mind, a satisfied smirk adorning his features. The youth had finally broken, after three weeks of mentally assaulting the boy, he'd succeeded! Now he had one final step: plot a course for Dathomir.

 **AN: You know, this chapter almost made me shed a tear - almost. ;D I hope you enjoyed this chapter - and the Ezra pain that came with it - or found it emotional enough to warrant a review/fav/follow. They will be duly noted - Raging Celiac**


	7. Chapter 7: Mauling Of the Mind

**Ezra blinked.** The stares of his fellow crewmates were scant noticed by the teen. A single, disturbing thought floated through his shaken psyche: Maul was in. Maul had broken him. For two weeks he struggled - and it was for nothing. Relatively speaking, of course. A small part of him attempted to look to the bright side of situation and found nothing. Ezra's mind was at Maul's whim. Now he had to deal with the fallout.

Zeb and Sabine stared at him while Hera took cautious steps toward him. Ezra felt Kanan rising from a slumber of his own. The world had officially came crashing down. Ezra's mind recounted the hours before he fell asleep, looking for where he had erred.

* * *

 _Ignoring the_ _ **hiss**_ _of the cabin door as it slid out of his way, Ezra laid down on his bunk, not even bothering to put away his lightsaber._

* * *

That was it. That was his fatal mistake. Now he had to deal with the consequences. Firstly, the crew.

"Zeb...what happened?" Hera asked, shaken. Ezra didn't dare try to read the thoughts of the twi'lek, for fear of what Maul might do. Instead remaining silent as Zeb explained his side of the story. Sabine continued bore her eyes into the youth, worry and curiosity written across her features. Ezra attempted to ignore this, instead closing his eyes and sucking deep gulps of oxygen. A small, cruel chuckle echoed through his mind. Ezra froze again at this, sure that Sabine had noticed. He felt a gentle hand on his forehead.

"Ezra, you're burning up." Hera stated, causing the youth the open his eyes a crack. The twi'lek pilot was peering attentively at him, a green-skinned hand gently placed in the middle of his forehead. Ezra flinches back from the hand, backing slightly toward the wall. Hera's lekku twitched in worry.

"Ezra, Zeb says you've had another nightmare. Is that true?" Ezra paused, considering his response. He was dubious to tell them of the Maul business, as it would only add more questions and draw Kanan back into the picture, something he definitely didn't want. Maul had been bested by Kanan on Malachor, but something in Ezra told him that the victory was a fluke.

Along with this, Kanan was on medical leave, and he certainly wasn't any shape to duel Maul - or, by proxy him - any time soon. He could lie, he had gained a considerable skill in that field over his years on Lothal, and it bought him time to shield himself from the former sith.

"Y-yeah. Nightmare." Ezra took a deep, shaky, fake, breath. "I was...captured. By inquisitors; t-they tortured me. Kanan, you, Zeb…" Hera's eyebrow rose. Ezra felt his breath freeze. The twi'lek had gotten good at spotting his lies, and prayed she wasn't seeing through this one. Hera sighed heavily.

"Okay...what else?" Ezra's mind went into overdrive; the story wasn't complete, and it needed finishing. Fast.

"They invaded my mind." was all he said. That had a little truth to it, his mind had been invaded - but by a much more terrifying being.

"Invaded your mind?" Hera had had Kanan explain telepathy through the force when he first met Ezra, saying that often times if two force-sensitive beings were close enough they'd form a two-way bond through the force. Ezra nodded vigorously.

"They brought up memories; my family, the streets, sometimes they'd give me a happy one, and then they'd just sniff it out." Ezra said bitterly, the memory of what Maul did to him still firm in his mind. The truth in that statement his home harder than the first, and a rapid wave of fear stabbed at the teen, knowing it could happen all over again. Hera shook her head.

"Alright; inquisitors, torture, and mental invasion, have I got that right?" Hera said, the words feeling alien to her. Ezra gave a small, slow nod.

"Yes," he whispered quietly, his hands beginning to wring themselves. Sabine didn't look that convinced, and Zeb looked as if he wanted to just go sleep again. Hera...she was a completely different story. The twi'lek's expression was a complex blend of worry, disillusion, with enough weariness to suggest that she didn't want to pursue the topic further. After a breif silence, Hera sighed.

"If that's all then I think I'll leave," she said, turning on her heel. A small gesture of the hand had Sabine following her shortly after. The mandalorian gave Ezra one final, suspicious glance before following the pilot. Ezra felt a wave of relief spread through his psyche and frame, and a deep sigh saw him flattening his back against the wall in a sitting position. Zeb was already back in his bunk, his furry back facing away from Ezra. The lights automatically went out, leaving Ezra alone to his thoughts. For the time being, at least.

* * *

Maul leaned back in the pilot's seat of the _Savage,_ comfortable weariness coloring his emotional state. His apprentice had finally broken, now all that was left was to arrive on Dathomir. A small pang of sentimentality hit the former sith, much to his surprise; he hadn't thought of Talzin for over a decade, deciding to hunt Kenobi instead. Now, the memories were coming back to him in their full volume. Were he a weak being he would've shed a tear, but no longer. Talzin's sacrifice was one he valued no end, but one he would've taken on himself in a heartbeat.

Back then the republic was in its dying days, and when it collapsed and order sixty-six occurred, Maul felt some small satisfaction when the news was cast throughout the holonet. A small part of him felt satisfied that he'd contributed to the organization's fall, but it was shadow of the zeal for the goal he once possessed. He vaguely wondered what Darth Bane would think of these power struggles, since he himself had a similar experience with his apprentice, Darth Zannah. Maul was one of the few true sith remaining, descended directly from the bane line. The sith lord that came before Sidious, one he'd attempted to find information on even during his apprenticeship under the dark lord. That lord or lady of the sith was still an ambiguous conundrum to Maul, as it seemed Sidious was determined to have them erased from the sith's history forever.

Maul was well aware of Sidious's faults - his egotism, arrogance, and zealously. Yet he was also a shrewd politician, and a powerful darksider, rumoured to have even jedi council members. Back when there was one.

Maul yanked himself out of his melancholy thoughts, instead focusing on the present. He had Ezra at his whim, and he had to act swiftly to capitalize.

* * *

Ezra sighed heavily, refusing to fall into sleep's embrace. Now that Maul had him cornered, he had to be doubly careful to let as little on as possible - at least to the crew at large. The youth was certain Kanan would sense the shift in his mind, and the faultlines made by him in the force. Even now, they took a darker disposition. It was a matter of time before Kanan would deduce what had happened to his apprentice, and would inevitably act. It was inescapable. He'd bought himself time with his lie, but it wouldn't hold past a week when Kanan got involved. Crossing his arms and rising from his cot, Ezra enacted all the stealth he could muster and headed once more to the cargo bay.

The sith holocron remained in its hiding place in his duffle bag, with its owner holding no intention of letting it out. His gaze fell to the lightsaber hooked on his hip. It wasn't a guarantee. Nothing was anymore. Separating himself from the galaxy would be the most intelligent move, and one that was feeling increasingly natural to the teen. He'd been isolating himself for the better part of a month, and this was the next step. He'd undertake a single mission more for the rebellion, and then he'd disappear. Like his parents had done when they'd died, he'd be gone. After that...Ezra was unsure of what would come after that. Still, it was only a matter of time before Maul took full control, considering his past. And when that moment came, Ezra would do everything in his power to remove himself from the equation.

 **AN: this story is getting dark, isn't it? Oh well. I won't hold back with this fic - within reason of course. But this is the view I think Ezra would take; he'd accept it, like he did when his parents were gone from his life. Except this would require more...extreme measures to solve. Any reviews/follows/favorites will be duly noted - Raging Celiac**


	8. Chapter 8: Count down to apprenticeship

" _ **So, apprentice,**_ _what did you expect?"_ Ezra grit his teeth and snarled,

"Get out." The voice, which sounded distinctly like Maul's, laughed.

" _We have a bond, apprentice,"_ the voice dripped with condescension. _"I can't simply 'get out'."_ Ezra felt anger rising and took a breath, letting it drain out into the force. The voice chuckled once more.

" _Is that what your master taught you to do? Breath when anger comes?"_ When Ezra didn't bother to respond, instead taking his DL-44 from its holster and beginning to fiddle with it. Eza felt more amusement on Maul's end of their bond.

" _Worldly distractions? Do you honestly think that will help?"_ No response came from the teen, who began to inspect th safety of the weapon when he felt a surge of pain through his mind.

" _No rash moves,"_ the voice warned, an underlying threat emanating from the words. Ezra laughed.

"Do _you_ think that'll stop me? I'm used to pain." Ezra retorted, gaining some satisfaction when Maul was silent for a moment.

" _No, but this will."_ Ezra clutched his head, hissing in pain. The voice laughed cruelly again.

" _Don't even think about it, because I'll know the instant you do."_ Ezra felt like he was five again. So far Maul had been pointedly angering, turning whatever Ezra said against him. Ezra had had to vent his emotions at least three times that hour, much to the former sith's amusement.

" _Silence. Of course. This won't stop anything, apprentice."_ Ezra felt mild discomfort through the force. Maul had full access to his memories; every feeling, every pang of hunger and sadness he needed. And the former sith used them to great effect. Whenever Ezra made a fair or poignant argument of remark Maul would use his own experiences against him. One day in and Ezra already wanted to die.

" _Do you?"_ Ezra sighed. Maul had heard that.

"Yes, I do, and you're not helping." even _more_ kriffing laughter from Maul's end.

" _Don't worry, apprentice; I'll give you plenty of ways to vent that killing spirit of yours,"_ Maul's telepathic speech halted to savor Ezra's discomfort at the statement. _"You have one, don't you?"_ Ezra didn't dignify that remark with a response. Maul'd just bring up his incident with the stormtrooper again.

" _Ah...the stormtrooper. You remember, correct? How you nearly killed them when they surrendered? And how your friends turned on you in that moment? If the rebellion stands for freedom and democracy, why are you limited in your decisions?"_ Ezra and Maul had that conversation several times over the last hour, with it always ending in Ezra's defeat. The youth rose from his seat in the cargo bay and began the journey back to his cot, Maul giving him a golden moment of silence. He didn't notice the footsteps behind him, but felt Maul stirring on his end of their bond.

"Ezra," the teen in question spun to face the source of the voice: Sabine. Again, Maul laughed.

" _The mandalorian...wasn't this one you had your first 'crush' on?"_ Ezra didn't respond, struggling for words as Sabine approached, worry coloring her features. Ezra's breath hitched. He just couldn't get a break, could he?

" _There is no rest for the wicked, apprentice."_ The teen felt a glare forming from his brow and dug his hands into his palms. Sabine cocked a signature eyebrow and placed a hand on her hip.

"Ezra, what's been up with you recently? You've ignored us since Malachor, and now you're talking to yourself. This isn't healthy." _Having a sith lord inside your head isn't healthy - you have no idea what I'm going through,_ The teen thought. Maul gave a small, bitter chuckle that echoed unnaturally inside Ezra's mind.

 _"Yes, she doesn't - why not tell her?"_ the question hanged in Ezra's mind, heavy set akin to a fog. Sabine continued to level her gaze at the teen, whose eyes were glazed, as empty as the blackest regions of space.

"Ezra? Sabine to Ezra. hellooooooo?" Ezra blinked. An apologetic gaze met that of the mandalorian.

"Sorry...just thinking," he said, realizing his verbal blunder soon afterward. It was too late.

"About what? You used to share these things with us, remember?" Ezra certainly remembered. He used to talk to the point of irritation. He would talk about anything, really. The weather on the last planet they visited, or their most recent raid. He used to do plenty with the crew; prank, joke, various other forms of mischief used to echo through the _Ghost's_ corridors. Now they were silent, a grim sense of determined purpose the only thing that resided in them.

Ezra realized the silence he'd created and responded,

"Yes, I used to. That was then - this is now. Times change, Sabine." The mandalorian before him glared with fire in her eyes.

"Why?" Sabine demanded, "What's happened to the Ezra that first came on this ship? The one that would smile, joke, prank, what happened to him?" Ezra sighed heavily, a weariness he had no right to seeping into the next statement.

"He's dead - he died on Malachor." Sabine blinked, as Ezra spun on his heel and half-ran to his joint cabin with Zeb. He'd finally said what he knew, deep down, was true.

The old Ezra died on Malachor IV, and the new one rose from its ashes.

* * *

Maul withdrew from his apprentice's mind, a smirk across his cracked lips. The boy was breaking emotionally, too. The zabrak barked out a laugh. A twisted, cruel howl that seemed to reverberate in the force. What little life that remained on Dathomir scurried away from the laugh's origin, leaving Maul on more alone. Rising from the pilot's seat of the _Savage,_ he exited the ship.

Dathomir's anciently twisted earth was soft against Maul's boots. The impressions he made on the soil were a reminder that the last heir to the nightsister legacy was using what they had inherited. Demented, wiry trees lacking leaves intertwined above him to form a natural ceiling. Not that it was needed, in any case; it hardly rained on Dathomir, but the dark planet's gesture was noted by the former sith.

Though his lightsaber hung from his hip, Maul knew it wasn't that that kept away Dathomir's scant wildlife. It was him. The former sith always masked his force signature, so well that palpatine had yet to find him. Granted, the arrogant old man probably thought him dead. Yet, his imprint in the force remained, one that would often push away beings or animals of lesser prominence. The former sith mused often in the immediate aftermath of Talzin's death what Sidious was doing; not as a politician - that was obvious even to him - but as a sith. How had he been improving? Was he searching for another apprentice? the first of the questions was rendered moot when Sidious became emperor, as he'd be deep in the bureaucratic marshes. The latter of the two questions still held pertinence. These 'inquisitors' disgusted him. if they were meant to be Sidiouses apprentices, he'd clearly lost sight of what made the sith great. The inquisitors of the ancient sith were numerous and trained for years or even decades to take up the mantle. These were rather reflective of Sidious himself.

They, in comparison to himself, were mere blinks in the force's faultlines. Even his apprentice had a larger signature. Their blades moved to the stereotypical sith styles; Juyo, form V, these were styles he'd mastered long ago. They were mere shadows of the ancient sith. Maul found them annoyances that couldn't be taken for granted. Nuisances dealt with easily enough. Behind the bravado and shock factor of their weapons lay dark side acolytes. These inquisitors were _not_ sith. They never were - never meant to be. The only other servant of Sidious Maul thought to be near sith-level was Darth Vader. No name belonged to the monstrosity other than that.

He'd seen little of the thing known as Vader other than in the early days of the jedi purge. After that he'd just...faded from galactic affairs. Maul was well aware that the monstrosity was a fair and deadly opponent, and planned to train his apprentice to deal with him as such.

Alas, that would come later. Now, he had to secure his apprentice.

 **AN: this story is almost over. ;( But I'm not done with it. Nowhere near. Or Ezra, for that matter. One final trial remains for him. Any reviews/follows/favorites will be duly noted - Raging Celiac**


	9. Chapter 9: Rash Moves

**Kar frowned,** his fingers digging in slightly to the soil of Yavin IV. He was surrounded by flora and various fauna indigenous to the jungle moon. Some were peaceful, others less so. The hill he rested upon was one of the many he'd found, covered by overgrown grass that stretched up to Kar's ankles. It tickled his bare toes in a slightly uncomfortable fashion that reminded him of Mat-neema...where there was grass, of course. The empire had made the planet into an industrial center, durasteel being crafted into new fortifications or weapons for their ever growing military. The sky of Yavin IV was a calming blue, something Mat-neema lacked. It originally had one, of course, why would of his colonist ancestors come if it didn't? Now it was a permanent dingy gray that spoke volumes of the planet itself.

Kar shook his head, the memories of his now-deceased siblings being stopped before they could torment him. Kar's knees were bent, the joints pointed to the sky, covered from the elements, unlike his feet. A gentle breeze caressed his toes, bringing a small, thin smile to his lips. The thoughts of the young man did, as they were prone to these days, to the abandoned CIS he 'found'. The mission had been given the go ahead, with the crew of a ship named the _Ghost_ having been chosen. Kar had heard rumors that a jedi resided on that ship, but didn't believe nor cared overmuch if one did.

He honestly wanted this rebellion to end.

Not that he wasn't devoted to the cause, he certainly was. But his cell had been all but annihilated. Out of the once two or three thousand strong cell, two remained. One pilot and a single intelligence officer.

"Kar? It's nearly dark - you know what happens after dark in this place." Kar's smile widened in spite of himself. He and the pilot had grown closer in the week since they'd arrived on Yavin IV - Kar guessed being the last survivors of a group might do that to two people. Still, having somebody - _anybody_ \- could empathise helped him overcome the loss of his unit. Rising, Kar turned to face the pilot, a small, stupid grin across his features.

* * *

Ezra fidgeted, squirming to get comfortable against the durasteel casing of one of the many nondescript crates currently residing in the cargo bay of _Ghost_. Vague thoughts, few pertinent to his task, passed through his mind. His breathing slowed to a comfortable pace, in moments the teen's eyelids began to take on a strange heaviness…

* * *

 _A gentle breeze caressed the side of Ezra's face, waking him. His neck and spine screamed in protest, but he rose despite. His gaze roamed where he was; or where he wasn't, in a sense. The blackness of space surrounded him; it was his sky, his walls, the floor under his feet. Stars, static in their movements, blinked before his vision. Ezra felt a definite sense of peace here, something that was a rare commodity in his life. His footsteps were soundless, carrying a suspicious lack of weight in their impacts. He realized quickly that he wasn't wearing his jumpsuit - instead the clothing of a mourner. Ezra felt a small twinge of unease_

 _The scene shifted._

 _Now under his feet was flat, depressing permacrete. Stains of which he didn't want to know the origin of pockmarked the permacrete. Around him were buildings with similarly disposed foundations; windows were boarded, blinds were shut, and even doors missing in the homes. The sky above him was an oblivious blue, and he was alone. No rodents scurried about - not even stray animals prowled. Ezra quickly realised exactly where he was: a slum._

 _Streets like this had dominated his life for years, the alleyways provided places of incremental rest; streets like this were where he had lived; streets like this where were his childlike optimism died. The seen shifted once more._

 _Now the oppressive and brutal surface and sun of Malachor filled his vision. The ground beneath his feet was thousand-year scorched stone, the hills of the most telling bedrock rose and plateaued carrying a strange beauty all their own. This was where his recent problems spawned from; where Kanan was blinded and Ahsoka died; where the Ezra that first boarded the_ Ghost _became a memory._

" _It doesn't have to be that way, you know," Ezra spun, catlike reflexes honed over years of street-dwelling being the catalyst. Before him was another Ezra._

 _This Ezra had a similar stature to himself; powerful, wiry muscles making a frame that was deceptively scrawny. His eyes were the same azure as his own, except they carried a playfulness his had lost. His hair was in the same faux-shaggy style he'd had for the better part of fifteen years. This Ezra was smiling sadly._

" _It doesn't have to be this way," It repeated, and with a small wave of their arm, the scene shifted._

 _The scene with the stormtrooper made Ezra cringe. The blade held in his memory's hand dipped. it raised after a moment and briefly illuminated his face; his eyes were looked golden. Ezra nearly gagged, his jaw feeling loose. The other Ezra still held the same, saddened smile and said,_

" _It never had to be this way." it stated, before fading into the background. Ezra was speechless._

* * *

Ezra's eyes snapped open; he immediately noted the sweat that had pooled in his palms and in his armpits.

" _Well that was quite the dream, wasn't it?"_ Ezra's frame jumped and he hissed:

"What the hell, Maul?!" Zeb glanced over at the statement, before his gaze dropped once more to his work.  
 _"Ahh...so the lasat has noticed. Who else? Besides the mandalorian, of course?" M_ aul drawled from the end of their bond. Ezra rose from is sitting position, deciding to make a beeline for the his cot. A small chuckle of amusement came from Maul's end. Ezra ignored it, instead approaching his duffle bag and plunging his hand into it. He eventually grasped the items he'd searched for: his lightsaber and the sith holocron.

Setting the sith artifact on the floor, Ezra ignited the saber and raised it. The thought of what he was going to do passed so swiftly Maul couldn't react properly. Before Maul could do anything, Ezra brought the blade down, slicing the holocron in half. Ezra screamed in agony shortly afterwards.

* * *

Maul clenched his teeth, sending waves of pain from his training under Sidious at the boy. The boy immediately caved, his scream bringing Maul small satisfaction. The nerve he had! That was possibly the only sith artifact Maul had easy access to. Now it was gone. The boy would pay. Maul guaranteed him that.

* * *

Ezra screamed, pain unlike any he'd felt stabbing at him from all directions. It was akin to scalding knives driving into his body - it made him want to die. It was all-consuming, all encompassing. His mind itself was aflame. His bones seemed to be breaking simultaneously. Maul wasn't done with him yet.

After the pain subsided, freezing cold attacked him from all sides. Ezra felt his hands go numb within seconds. Then he felt the familiar emptiness in his throat as it began to contract itself.

 _"No rash moves, apprentice."_

 **AN: I love writing Maul! He's so much fun! He's such an enigma! We're closing in on the final chapters for this story, so enjoy the intermediary fluff while it last! Also, in response to Unfathomable Fandom's question: No. These aren't pre-written; I just have _way_ too much free time for the moment. ;D Any reviews/follows/favorites will be duly noted - Raging Celiac**


	10. Chapter 10: Semi Calm Before The Storm

**Ezra's shouts** drew the attention of the crew, who, for the second time in a week, found him on the ropes. He was levitated a few feet above the ground, his fingers desperately scratching his throat. The rasps he made were horrid.

The entire repertoire of the crew froze; they'd seen Ezra force choked before, and it was horrifying to them. But at least then they could see _who_ was the perpetrator. Not this time, it seemed. The three members of the crew left were in awestruck horror at the sight; the sick, plentiful gurgles as Ezra clawed at his throat made Sabine's jaw felt strangely loose; Hera's pupils widened and her hands clenched in outrage; Zeb's pupils did as the latter of his comrades, while he muttered:

"Karabast," None of these gestures by his crewmates stopped Maul; not that anything would, really. The anger he felt was the purest in a decade that had graced him. It was only when Ezra was on the brink of death did the zabrak release him. He left the boy with one final message.

" _No rash moves, apprentice."_ Nobody else in the room heard it, but to Ezra it was the most terrifying four words he'd ever heard. Then Darkness blessed him with its embrace.

* * *

"Please repeat that again?" the hologram Kanan asked. Hera shook her head, lekku swaying.

"I-i don't know. We heard screaming like when Ezra had him nightmares...then they died out. When we finally found him, he was being...force cloaked? No that's not right…"

"Force choked," the hologram corrected. Even with the unstable connection they had, the inflection and stance of the hologram suggested profound worry.

"Did you see who did it?" hera shook her head again, causing the hologram Kanan to sigh heavily. The sound was distorted and filled with static, Hera could tell the news was weighing heavily on the former jedi.

"Okay...where is he now?"

"His cabin, last I checked," The hologram nodded.

"Who else is there?" hera's response had more than a little surprise in it.

"Sabine." the hologram Kanan raised a brow.

"Sabine? Why her?" Hera shook her head once more.

"I honestly don't know - don't plan on complaining anytime soon, though." she said with a small smile across her features. Kanan should've had a similar reaction, yet it seemed the former jedi hadn't a speck of humor in him.

"I'm coming back." the hologram stated. Before Hera could respond, he cut the connection. A frown replaced Hera's smile. Rising from her seat and ignoring the wave of weariness that assaulted her, the pilot made the trek back to Ezra. The past week had to one of the poorer in memory, what with Ezra waking in the middle of the night and then screaming so loudly it could be heard across the _Ghost_ twice. Hera knew there had been an undeniable shift of his outlook since the events of Malachor - she didn't need the force to see that. Ezra had quieted, seemingly forgetting about his crush on Sabine simultaneously. He meditated more often, and went to some random part of the ship with that holocron doubly so. He'd emerge hours later looking exhausted. Then the past two weeks happened.

It seemed ezra had been digging himself deeper and deeper into a social hole in the past two weeks. His condition had deteriorated, too; the bags under his eyes got larger and he got even thinner; his sleep was fitful for the first time in nearly six months;he had apparently been talking to himself; Now he had just collapsed in his own cabin.

The door slid past the twi'lek, the _hiss_ ignored as Hera focused on the only two figures in the room. Since the two hours after Ezra's collapse, Sabine had kept her vigil without break. Hera realised quickly by the mandalorian's slumped shoulders that she'd fallen asleep. Hera placed a hand on Sabine's shoulder.

"Sabine, wake up." the mandalorian immediately stirred, retracting a hand that was a tad closer than it should've been Ezra's face. Hera fought to keep the smirk from forming on her features and said,

"Come on; it's been two hours - you need something to eat." sabine offered only token resistance as Hera led her away from the teen. With one final glance at Ezra, Sabine gave in to the inevitable, allowing Hera to lead her out of the room.

* * *

 _Ezra stirred, finding himself once more on Malachor. He scowled. This gimmick of these dreams had already grown old. A small, unsettling chuckle from behind him seized Ezra with fear. Maul slipped a wiry arm around Ezra's shoulders and gestured to the landscape._

" _It was its own beauty, doesn't it?" Ezra didn't respond, slipping away from Maul's arm._

" _Don't touch me." he spat, taking a few steps away. Maul laughed. Ezra noticed that he did that plenty when talking to him._

" _Oh, apprentice, you don't understand; I didn't actually touch you - this land your mind was made...it isn't part of the mundane realm." Ezra nearly bit back his retort. Nearly._

" _I don't care what realm I'm in. Do. Not. Touch me." Maul cackled cruelly. In a second he was in front of the teen._

" _So naive," The zabrak ran a finger across the pair of scars decorating his right cheek. "'Much to learn, you still have.' as Yoda would say," Ezra nearly fainted. How did he know about Yoda?_

" _Apprentice, I'm disappointed," Maul said in a low, mocking voice. "I know_ _ **all**_ _of your secrets. You should have learnt this by now," Maul smacked him. Ezra spun in a way that would've been comic if it were in a different scene. Maul towered over the teen, crouching down next to him._

" _I hold_ _ **all**_ _of the power here," he said, making Ezra shiver. "What you felt? Those were weak compared to what I have at my disposal-" Maul drew a line between them "-From both of us." He finished, offering a hand to the downed teen. Ezra didn't take it, opting for the less graceful route of rising. Maul gave a small nod of approval._

" _Good. you're learning." Ezra felt a distinct disgust at the compliment, refusing to respond._

" _Maybe not so much," Maul said faux-thoughtfully. He turned to Ezra._

" _For now, apprentice, I leave you. You have other...matters to attend at the moment."_

* * *

Ezra snapped awake, his head and neck snapping upwards. His bleary eyes roamed what he recognised as his cabin with expectable speed. At first he wondered why he was laying on his back in his cot, then his memories of the day came back full force. The holocron...Maul...him collapsing. _Shit._ Ezra knew was in for it now. Hera certainly wasn't going to let him leave, not before she knows exactly why he'd collapsed. That would mean explaining the whole Maul business and probably something to do with Malachor. _Damn it._

 **AN: Things aren't going well for Ezra, are they? Also, with school starting up again literally tomorrow. Yeah, I'm not kidding. So expect the update rate to slow. Sorry. :(**

 **Any reviews/follows/favs will be duly noted - Raging Celiac**


	11. Chapter 11: Picking Up The Pieces

**Maul stretched,** exiting Ezra's mind with a small yawn. The whole situation had him fuming, yet the zabrak had to give credit where credit was due, the boy had boldness to him. Boldness wouldn't provide for every situation, and the boy needed to taught that. Along with that, the boy had, in all likelihood, drawn his 'master' into the endeavour, which wouldn't help Maul in the slightest. The man was one simply known as 'Kanan' though Maul doubted that it was the former jedi's name. He held a startling amount of dedication to his apprentice, but, frankly, the fact that he _had_ one was the surprising.

Maul rose, entering the antechamber of the fortress he called home. Twisted stone arched to form a domed ceiling that Maul suspected wasn't natural. His gaze roamed the walls, the crude paintings and scorched rock a reminder of what dathomir once was. The unnatural stone dome that Maul found strange awe in; he'd studied the sith and dark magics of his orders' past, though never put them in practice - yet. The spell he planned to use was archaic, at minimum a thousand years had passed since its creation. It wouldn't be his first time using it - he'd lost his youthful overconfidence nearing thirty years ago, and Maul had used it several times on Dathomir's indigenous fauna to a great degree, but the stock the stock the dathomirian put into that fact was low. His apprentice had been surprisingly resilient to his mental attacks, though when true effort was put in he would collapse. As he already had.

This attack wasn't a guaranteed success, though Maul felt his skill in force domination had improved. Dark side magic depended on whether the caster could overpower their victim's will.

And _that_ was the rogue element in the equation.

It was the undetermined variable, having yet to be defined. It was the thorn in Maul's side that the zabrak hoped would be moot by the end of this. Yet Maul hadn't found the correct time; he was sure his apprentice would have to tell the rest of his crewmates about the connection, thus making Maul's attempt require the perfect moment. But...he could wait.

He'd waited near twenty years for Kenobi.

A few more wouldn't make a difference.

* * *

Ezra sucked in a breath as the door slid open, and let it out as Hera, Zeb, and Sabine took up positions around his bed. Hera took a seat across from him, while Zeb simply stood. Sabine was almost directly _on_ the thing, easily the closest of the three. A small, insignificant part of him hoped in vain for some quip from someone. none came.

"Ezra, I'm sure you know why we're all here," Hera said, her voice a stern that had traditionally reserved for Kanan, "So I'm not beating around the bantha here: what is going on with you?" Ezra felt the first twitch of awkwardness, his mind frantic to give some sort of response.

"Maul." was all he gave. Hera's arms crossed and her eyebrows rose.

"Kanan talked about someone with that name - said he was a sith." Ezra shook his head, matted hair falling down his forehead.

"Former sith." he corrected, then paused. "He's been invading my mind." Hera blinked, and Ezra sure in the knowledge that every mind in the room was putting the pieces together.

"That nightmare...you said it was about someone invading your mind..." Hera trailed off, the events of the previous night coming back to her in a flood. Once she'd realised what Ezra had done, the twi'lek glared. Ezra's eyes flicked around the three figures, making note of their expressions; Hera's disturbed him, Zeb's was in a similar state, and Sabine's...the mandalorian looked ready to kill. Her hand twitched, a sure sign she was ready to hurt something - or him.

A stern glance from Hera stopped that in its tracks.

"So; you hid this from _all_ of us," there was significant emphasis on 'all' "then when you really needed help, you brushed it off." Hera stated, her glare intensifying, "Kanan talked about 'bonds' people like you form...no. You don't, right?" Ezra shook his head.

"I did." Hera fell silent at that, while Sabine and Zeb looked utterly bewildered. Unawares to this, Hera inquired further.

"How?" ezra's eyes directed to the floor and he said,

"If I knew, we wouldn't be here." the statement was nothing but a whisper, so quiet only the mandalorian next to him heard it. Their eyes held a small amount of pity.

"The nightmare?" Ezra's eyes rose to meet Hera's then darkened, seemingly causing the temperature in the room to drop several degrees.

"When he broke me." The twi'lek across from him frowned, worry starting to replace anger.

"What do you mean by 'broke me'?" Ezra directed his gaze to the blankets covering his feet, staring through them, the pain he felt when Maul broke him hitting him once more. He shivered.

"He has full access to my mind." Sabine inched away from him at that,, while Zeb merely stared. Hera, out of all of them, let out a breath.

"Okay...what does this mean?" Hera didn't know it was possible, but Ezra's irises grew darker.

" He has everything." The trio facing him blinked, all their eyes growing in size. Sabine shook her head, not believing it.

"'Everything'?" The youth she asked nodded slowly.

"Yes. Maul. Knows. Every. Thing. I can't change it - none of you can." Zeb opened his mouth, but Ezra straightened his back and held up a hand.

"He now knows that you know. He knows all the information I've got on the rebellion, and of all of you - he knows everything. I'm surprised he hasn't taunted me during this conversation at all yet," His crewmates looked at each other, before leveling them at Ezra in sync. "Through our bond." he clarified, pushing down his uncomfortableness and locking gazes with each crew member in turn. Hera and Zeb gave him little difficulty, expressions of anger replaced by worry and uncertainty. When his met Sabine's, the movement of his eyes stopped dead.

The mandalorian's eyes held emotions unprecedented for Ezra; worry mixed with fear, anger, compassion...they were a kaleidoscope, each with various levels of precedence over the others. For a few moments, the pair stared each other down. Both attempted to read the other's emotions, but to no avail for both fronts. Ezra forced himself away from the gaze, instead leveling his irises on Hera.

"I understand if you want me to leave." he began to swing his legs over the sides of the bed when Hera said:

"No...stay. I'll contact Kanan. Zeb, Sabine - watch over him." the pilot said, and without a word more, she left the cabin to the trio. Ezra stayed still, while his crewmates drew their arms. They were pointed at _per se_ but the teen was sure the safeties were off.

The three were silent, each with their own thoughts. For Ezra, these were increasingly fatalist; he didn't know how Kanan would react, nor how his life would spiral from this point. One item was a guarantee, however.

Maul would be the major player in it.

* * *

 **AN: Yeah...I don't think this chapter is the best. :/ But, I'll put it out nonetheless - you guys needs** _ **something**_ **from me. The chapters after this will be far superior (I hope) and we're reaching this story's climax. The crew now knows whats been happening with Ezra, but what will they do with that knowledge? Find out next time...when I get past my procrastination and get another chapter out. ;] Any reviews/follows/favorites will be duly noted - Raging Celiac**


	12. Chapter 12: Complications

**The door** slid past, a pneumatic _hiss_ signifying the development. Ezra didn't register this, his chest rising and falling with the steady pace that bespoke sleep. Kanan could tell this, not through sight - that had been lost in weeks prior - no, it was the shift from Ezra's end of their bond. One that had been inactive for a length after Malachor. Ever since Kanan had lost his sight, even more so. When he was sent to Yavin IV on medical leave, his apprentice had been quiet. Yet, the former jedi knew full well why; Hera had given him a near-tearful elaboration of Ezra's business with the sith holocron when he arrived on the _Ghost_.

The fact that Ezra's mental defenses had shattered was profoundly worrying.

Destroying the holocron had been even worse.

Hera said that Ezra's scream of agony had been heard from even the cargo bay. And Kanan...Kanan most _definitely_ did. A force bond was something of an enigma; it was very dependent on the relationship of both parties involved, and pain from one end would strike the other with as force equal to what that party in agony was experiencing. So, when the holocron had been sliced in half, Kanan nearly force-screamed. The pain was unlike anything he'd ever felt; it was all-consuming, akin to a tsunami that would bury a continent. Nothing was left untouched.

What remained of his self-control had been lost when he felt Maul begin to choke Ezra. Kanan experienced a familial desire to murder unprecedented to anything he'd ever had the fortune to feel. When his master was cut down he'd felt a wave of depression and grief that nearly overwhelmed him; when Ahsoka sacrificed herself, he had been hit by similar grief; the Inquisitor's interrogation of him made him indignant. But this…

It was the _need_ to murder.

And it was wholly disturbing. Kanan had never been one for combat as a jedi, blending in with the masses of younglings, with little notoriety. His stumbling upon Depa Billaba, one of Mace Windu's few apprentice's, while in her coma had been an accident. Her waking only in his presence hadn't been. Ezra's action wasn't one, either. The youth seemed to have gained more drastic mood-shifts in the weeks since Malachor, and had become increasingly fatalist. Considering the precedents the youth had been setting, this decision shouldn't surprise him. Not with the fog of his mind cleared. Yet hindsight was, by definition, the look at an event after it had passed.

This decision by Ezra wasn't surprising at all, in hindsight. The more Kanan put himself in Ezra's shoes, the more he understood it: Maul had broken in, he knew of the holocron, and would likely do everything in his power to get it - along with Ezra. This had been Ezra's final act of rebellion. Ironic, considering his line of work.

Now all Kanan had to do was stop Maul's plans cold.

Easier said than done, of course. Connections weren't easily broken. Nor created, for that matter. Having Ezra attempt to break it would do one of two things: either it would succeed, or, as the logical section of his mind screamed, it would result in complete and utter failure. The latter of which was grossly likely. Massaging his temples, Kanan lightly sighed. It seemed every problem that could have occurred had compounded: Ezra was, to most, a total basketcase. Combine that with the most critical mission they'd been given yet, you got one thing:

A huge fucking problem.

The situation looked more bleak the more Kanan analysed it; the mere fact that Ezra had mentally broken left more than just facts about the crew - it left him open to mind dominance. Given Maul's background, Kanan was also aware of the fact there were any number of other obscure and unknown ways that Maul could take his apprentice from him. Another sigh escaped him.

"Kanan? Is everything okay?" Kanan looked up: it was Hera.

"No. Its not."

* * *

 _At this point Ezra was done with his arbitrary dreams; he was now in a command center of some sort, based on the many consoles that littered it. Their surfaces were coated with a thin layer of rust and cobwebs, giving a decrepit tone to the room. The durasteel beneath his feet was in a similar state of repair, as were the walls. As his eyes roamed, a high-pitched noise made him freeze. Lights affixed to the walls lit up, a ruby glow painted across his features. A door to his right slid past, the sounds of clashing something's causing Ezra to turn to the source._

 _Himself._

 _This Ezra was rapidly retreating, two droids carrying electro-staffs towering over them. The droids had tanned simmer-silk draped over their mechanical shoulders as pauldrons, the thin cloth looked like it hadn't seen light for years. The electro staffs they carried moved with rapidity unseen; mechanisms groaned in an attempt to overwhelm this strikes that came from that Ezra were the floundering type; colored with desperation and panic that bespoke the hopelessness of their situation. Flashes of golden and purple contrasted the blood red of the lights in the command deck. Natural and mechanical feet struck the durasteel floor, with the former's far faster than those of the latter. The droids continued to press this Ezra, relentlessly striking at every direction their programs could calculate._

 _The trio went in a faux-circle around a hologram table as Ezra's other self continued to give ground to the droids, his blade frenetically blocking each strike as it came. One swung wide toward his legs, causing the dream-Ezra to jump back; the second of the pair thrusted toward his midsection, forcing the dream-Ezra's blade to do a desperate crescent movement to stop it. The dream-Ezra spun, somersaulting away, reaching out a hand._

 _A console was ripped with a horrible scraping sound as decades old bolts groaned in protest. The dream-Ezra tossed it at the fast-closing droids, scattering the pair. Closing his eyes, he ripped two more consoles from their places on the walls, throwing both at the closest droid to him, so happening to be the left of the pair. The droid rolled out of the first console's deadly range, hit by an equally speedy console only a moment later. The console slammed the droid against the command center's walls, snapping it's durasteel upper limbs and mechanical neck._

 _By this point the droid's partner had gotten its bearings, doing a somersault of its own over the dream-Ezra. With cold purpose, this Ezra struck at their exposed torso, cutting it at the legs midair. The legless body fell to the ground, scraping the floor of the command center as it tried to reach the dream-Ezra. Frowning at the sound, the dream-Ezra ripped another console from its place on the wall, lazily tossing toward the remaining droid. It slammed into the torso, half-flattening it against the wall._

 _The dream-Ezra wore a triumphant smirk as the body sputtered and died, bringing finality. Just as the droid died though, the smirk faded. It was replaced by a hiss of pain and gritting of teeth. The dream-Ezra closed his eyes and clutched its head, dropping to their knees. After a few moments of agonized silence, they collapsed._

* * *

 **AN: sorry if this chapter feels like more fluff, but I'm having trouble getting a plot point ironed out at the moment. Still, there is** _ **something**_ **of substance in this chapter, see if you can guess it. I hope it will take some thought. ;D Any reviews/follows/favorites will be duly noted. - Raging Celiac**


	13. Chapter 13: Developments

**Ezra's eyes** snapped open, opening, closing, then closing again. All the while Kanan studied his apprentice, making note of the bags under the youth's irises. They were heavy seat, giving him a sense of weariness that he had no right to. Along with this, he seemed to have thinned out, as well. His hair, once slicked back and neatly cut, was now a matted, disorganized mess. Some small part of the former jedi saw his teenage post clone wars self in his apprentice; for more years than he'd like to admit, Kanan had been in a similar state. A half starved, depressed shadow of his former self.

But that was then. Now he had a decent look at what Maul had done to the youth: Shattered his very being.

The hopefulness and bravado that had once gripped his apprentice was gone, in its place coming a sobered, shell of suppressed truths that were left buried far too long. An internal sigh came and went, and Kanan felt Ezra's eyes settle on him. The former jedi stared back with melancholy, vaguely aware that Hera had motioned for the others to leave. After a few low mutters of dissent from Sabine, the trio exited.

The pair of beings remained silent, words unable to express what each wanted to tell the other. Ezra attempted, and failed, to apologize through eye contact. His mentor simply stayed silent, waiting for the youth to extrapolate on the events of the past two weeks. Eventually, in an awkward and weak voice, Ezra spoke up.

"Uh...hi?" he started, discomfort displayed clearly on his normally unreadable expression. He sighed.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled, leveling his gaze to the snow-white sheets of his cot. Kanan raised a brow behind his mask.

"For what?" He inquired, his tone teetering between mentorial criticism and disappointment. Ezra's eyes darted upward, narrowing in thought before he let out another sigh.

"For not telling you…" his master crossed his arms and the youth added, "about any of this. All of it. I knew you would've came over immediately once you knew-" Kanan huffed false and cut in.

"You didn't want me to get involved because you were afraid that my disability would render me vulnerable - Is that right?" Ezra opened his mouth, closed it, then let his shoulders slump.

"Yes." he said in a guilty monotone. Kanan frowned, crossing his arms over each other.

Honestly, he could understand Ezra's reasoning - despite how ignorant it may have been. In the weeks directly after Malachor, yes, he was all-but helpless in combat. For a short time it seemed he'd be viable again...then one stormtrooper just _had_ to get lucky. That sent him to Yavin IV, and, from what he could tell, that was when Maul had begun assaulting his apprentice's mind. In just two weeks, Ezra had broken. Mentally shattered beyond anything Kanan could imagine.

Kanan slowly reached up for the mask that obscured his eyes. Ezra's eyes snapped upward at the movement, then froze when they reached the lowering face mask. The pair of irises followed it until Kanan set it down on his lap, looking back at the youth. Ezra's breath hitched, his body frozen: where Kanan's eyes should have been were instead scorched and blackened holes, with bland, empty irises. Kanan gave a small, sad smile and spoke.

"Ezra, listen: I'm here for you, the crew's here for you. Even chopper. What happened on Malachor is something I've forgiven," Ezra's expression was something of enigma; his face and features were unreadable, though the eyes gave it away. The ocean-blue orbs showed everything: the self loathing, the guilt, the pain. The youth's eyes summed up the past two weeks better than Ezra ever could've done verbally. Ezra's emotional mask began to crack. It was instinct that compelled Kanan's arms to encircle Ezra's frame, and hold him close.

Kanan felt the blue-black hair of his apprentice tickle the crook of his neck. The cloth on his right shoulder began to feel damp as small, nearly inaudible sobs shook the youth in his arms. Kanan ran a few fingers through Ezra's locks, speaking soft words of comfort to him. Minutes passed, though time meant little to the pair. A pneumatic _hiss_ and soft footsteps drew Kanan's attention. Hera stood in the doorway, eyes traveling from Kanan, to the youth in his arms, then back to Kanan.

"Is he alright?" Three words, such a difficult question. Kanan glanced down, only realising then that Ezra had fallen asleep. His breathing was steady, his state a serene calm. Kanan flashed Hera a small smile and let Ezra lay softly back against his cot. Pulling the covers closer to Ezra, Kanan spoke quietly.

"For now, yes. But I need him to sleep in my quarters from now on." The pilot in front of him nodded, turning on her heel. Kanan followed her frame until it disappeared from view. Rising, he watched Ezra's sleeping form for a few moments, before he exited the youth's quarters.

* * *

 _"An...interesting development, but nothing that will stop me, apprentice."_ Ezra's body snapped up. He sat, straight-backed, glancing around wildly for any sign of the voice.

" _I thought that you would have learned that is pointless,"_ Maul. That bastard was in his mind again. Ezra's hand darted to catch his head a second later, hissing.

" _Manners apprentice, Manners."_ A million different remarks passed through Ezra's mind, each detected by Maul. The zabrak laughed eerily, making Ezra cringe.

" _You have lessons to learn, apprentice. I'm here to teach you."_ Ezra bit his metaphysical tongue, letting his anger siphon off into the force. Maul gave another chuckle before throwing Ezra's anger back at him.

" _Anger makes one strong, apprentice. And after all, where would you be without it?"_ Ezra didn't respond for the dathomirian had a point. Anger _had_ saved him from many sticky situations on the streets, by triggering adrenaline rushes, his connection to the force, or just plain bloodlust. Either way, Maul knew he had touched a nerve.

" _Yet this jedi_ _ **insists**_ _on having you push those emotions down,"_ Maul drawled, speaking to Ezra like a teacher that had just found the flaw in their pupil's equation.

" _It only hurts you - look at what came of your 'training'."_ Ezra glared at the wall, clenching his fists.

" _It couldn't help you on Malachor - anger did. You know this full well, apprentice. I showed you,"_ Ezra clenched his teeth.

" _It saved you in the temple. Remember the chasm? I do. Your anger allowed you to jump that distance. Not your training under that jedi."_ Ezra snapped. Sending the strongest wave of energy he could at the former sith,destabilising Maul'sgrip for a moment. The zabrak was surprised, yet he stuck back with double the force of Ezra. The youth bit his tongue to halt the scream that threatened to come out.

" _T_ _here's hope for you yet, apprentice."_

* * *

 **Hi. I apologize for the late update: a combination of creativity issues and my country officially downing the kool aid that is our new president caused a few problems. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Also, if anybody has any art I could use for this story I'd be immensely grateful - I can't draw to save my life. As is procedure, any reviews/follows/favorites will be duly noted. - Raging Celiac**


	14. Chapter 14: Developments, part 2

**Ezra grimaced** heavily, ignoring the sweat on his brow.

"You need to focus - imagine a box," Kanan said. Ezra snorted his head in exasperation.

"A box? Oh yeah, 'cause that's gonna stop Maul." he muttered to himself. Ezra felt the aforementioned enter his mind, sending a shiver down his spine.

"He just entered, didn't he?" Kanan said pointedly. It wasn't a question but more of a statement. Kanan had gained the grim ability to sense when the zabrak entered his apprentice's mind, stopping everything when he did - which was almost always. Ezra rose, stopping when Kanan placed a hand on his shoulder. The youth glanced back at his master, forcing the frown of irritation off his features.

"We'll continue with this later; for now, use what you learned," Ezra nodded, the sarcastic remark that would've come years prior not bothering to show itself. Ezra lightly shook the hand off his shoulder, shooting Kanan a small, apologetic glance before exiting the quarters he now shared with his master. Kanan had done what he could, which considering the situation wasn't much. Maul was, overall, a pain in Ezra's lothalian neck; his remarks were always pointed and irritating, inflaming some dormant nerve that Ezra thought he'd conquered. His incident only days prior seemed to motivate the zabrak even further, as he entered and exited his mind more freely, and Ezra was certain the shivers it gave him pleased the former sith. Ezra heard a chuckle from Maul's end.

" _Do you think I enjoy doing this, apprentice?"_ Ezra narrowed his eyes, choosing to ignore Maul for the moment. Another laugh from Maul came when he sensed that thought.

" _You can't ignore me, apprentice. I'm inside your mind - you cannot avoid me."_ Ezra, again, chose to remain silent, as if that would stop the zabrak's remarks.

" _Silence?"_ Ezra heard another sinister, evil laugh from Maul. _"that will not stop me, apprentice."_ Ezra continued to walk down the corridors of the _Ghost_ , immensely thankful that he'd encountered nobody - especially Sabine - as of yet. For that he was grateful, because the mandalorian had developed the habit of seeking him out over the past few days. Ezra would've assumed that having his mind under another's thumb would've discouraged her.

As with most things with Sabine, he was wrong.

Now she seemed to want to watch him constantly, and talk to him in his sparse Maul-free moments. When she did talk to him ( or more accurately when he _allowed_ her to talk to him), it would be about anything; their last mission; the state of the rebellion; the last meal he'd eaten - anything trivial, basically.

Normally, Ezra would've encouraged, even sought this type of thing out; yet the situation at the moment was anything but normal.

" _Yes, this_ _ **is**_ _far from normal, isn't it?"_ Ezra blinked, then lightly dug his nails into his palms. Of course Maul would cut in like that: it was his mission to make Ezra's life a living hell.

" _Not to make it hell, apprentice - merely to make you mine."_ Ezra snorted, his tongue speaking before his mind could stop it.

"So you're going for the crazed girlfriend route, then?" Silence met the teen, and Ezra mentally slapped himself. Another emotional slip. _Great,_ he thought to himself. A few more seconds ticked past, but those seconds could have been days as far as Ezra was concerned. Finally, or perhaps out of boredom, Maul responded.

" _Clever point,"_ Maul mentally responded, the hint of admiration in his tone, _"Yet wit serves only to provoke your enemies. You'd be wise to learn that, apprentice."_ This time Ezra didn't rise to the bait, knowing he'd lose the argument that would follow if he did. On the other end of Ezra and Maul's bond, the latter gave a small _hmph_ of approval.

" _It seems you have learnt that lesson already, then."_

* * *

On the other end of the _Ghost_ , master felt his apprentice's conversation with the former sith. He didn't intervene, surprised how well Ezra was handling the metaphorical sparring match.

The two traded words, Ezra scoring a particularly pointed remark of the snarkiness that Kanan had come to expect. He half-smiled when he heard it, causing Zeb to shoot him a quizzical look. After fifteen minutes, Kanan had felt no pain, meaning that Maul had likely done nothing in response to his apprentice's trademark wit. His smile grew slightly wider, though this time he forced the edges of his mouth into a contemplative frown, to respect the grimness of the situation.

It was several minutes later that Hera walked into the common room, her footsteps drawing the attention of a journal-toting Sabine, who looked over the collection of flimsi. The pencil in her hand drooped slightly.

"Hera, is something wrong?" The twi'lek in question shook her head, then gestured to Kanan.

"No. Nothing's wrong Sabine." she said, and before the mandalorian could question further, Hera continued. "Kanan, I need you in the cockpit." Sabine looked between the two, then lowered her gaze back to the notebook in her hands. Kanan rose, ignoring the small cries of his vertebrae as they were forced back into work. He followed Hera to the cockpit, in which she slid into the pilot's seat and leaned back slightly. Kanan, reached his seat with minimal effort, though he was more careful than he would have been. Hera gave him a pointed look, and spoke.

"Kanan, what are we gonna do about Ezra?" An internal sigh passed and Kanan directed his visor to the pilot in front of him.

"What do you mean?" he asked carefully, wary of the potential response. Hera swiftly glared at him in exasperation. She'd gotten scarily good at that.

"You know _exactly_ what I'm talking about - are we gonna take him?" Kanan bit his lower lip lightly in thought. In his mind, he had two options: take Ezra, and risk Maul attacking him, or wait. Ezra probably wouldn't gain much if he waited, and he'd probably try to come along anyway. Kanan reached out to his apprentice, who responded with a mental:

" _Is something wrong?"_ Master took note of the tone in this, then responded to his student.

"No, nothing's wrong Ezra. Meet me in my quarters in fifteen minutes." Affirmative waves came from Ezra, and he quickly closed off the bond. At that moment, Kanan realised Hera was shooting him a gaze of annoyance and immense irritation. Now was not the time to test the twi'lek's patience.

"Yes. We're taking him."

* * *

 **AN: Uh...hi? I'm sorry for the wait; procrastination and lack of creativity on my part made this one particularly difficult. :(** **so much for a schedule, eh? I'll do my best to get back on track next week. I still hope this does job does an adequate job of setting up the climax. Any reviews/follows/favs will be duly noted.**


	15. Chapter 15: The Outpost

**The roar** of the _Ghost's_ engines died down as the landing gears touched down on the surface of Cholestar. the boarding ramp slid down near-silently, as if trying to copy the planet it was lowering onto. Cholestar was a barren, empty snowstorm. When Sabine, Zeb, Kanan, and Ezra emerged from the conditioned halls of the _Ghost_ , they were in full winter clothing - except for Kanan and Ezra. Master and apprentice both wore faux-simmersilk cloaks with hoods that their faces partly in shadow. This, while it wasn't something that bothered Zeb much, very much so annoyed Sabine.

For her, fighting was easier when the enemy had no face. But when her friend - brother, of sorts - didn't have one, she loathed the collection of artificial cloth. If her eyes could set things on fire at that moment, the entire cloak that draped over Ezra's shoulders would've been gone (along with a considerable of his hair).

She was aware that she'd been seeking him out for the past week whenever possible - which usually resulted in a passive aggressive 'No.' so he probably appreciated the facial obstruction the hood created. But when she _did_ get the chance to talk to him, he'd always stay quiet, his responses low and as vague as his expression. The voice was always neutral, entirely unique, but unnaturally so. Just devoid of emotion, not even the manufactured kind. Before Ezra might've put up a polite, forced smile and played along, feigning awkward or tiredness to escape, but now he didn't.

No, now he'd always avert eye contact whenever possible, only making said contact when absolutely necessary. Were Sabine a person of lesser will, she'd have given up; but when you're born and raised a mandalorian, it doesn't breed a lack of will.

And so she continued playing the game of social cat and mouse for seven days, getting small scraps of information of about what exactly he and Kanan were doing for most of the day.

Apparently, darth _Maul_ of all people had been attacking Ezra. Of course, it was metaphysical, _like_ _ **everything**_ _if with that kriffing force,_ Sabine thought bitterly. She glanced over at Ezra, who was walking beside Kanan dutifully and with shocking discipline; Sabine had never seen him act anywhere _close_ to this. The two seemed to be one mind, linked together. If one made a misstep, or tripped on a stone that was nye invisible in the snowstorm, the other caught them. There was no word of thanks when this happened, merely a nod or grunt was exchanged; knowing the pair, Sabine guessed all the thanks and awkward pauses went on through the force - somehow.

While all this went through Sabine's head, Zeb gave her a curious glance that quickly morphed into one of immense amusement.

"Hey, I thought it was Ezra who had the crush!" He blurted out.

Ezra's hood shifted Zeb's direction, just as Sabine's helmet did the same. Sabien glared at the lasat, while Ezra simply made an attempt to shift his gaze to the snow falling in front of him. The mandalorian kept her eyes on Zeb for a moment more, before directing it firmly to a structure that was barely visible.

Kanan's cloak altered position slightly, as the faded symbol of the Confederacy Of Independent Systems came into view. Though his eyes were hidden, Ezra knew that his mentor still held deep seated and abject hatred of the long-dead group. Remnants remained, sure, but most often they were on far flung planets the former jedi could ignore with relative ease.

Now he was faced with one of the Confederacy's once numerous outposts.

Ezra's eyes studied the rusted, snow-caked exterior of the outpost with mild curiosity; the clone wars had always been portrayed, at least to him, as when the jedi made an attempt to overthrow the republic - which in a twisted way, they did.

Jedi had fought for three years against the CIS, and, if propaganda was to be believed, made an attempt on Chancellor - now emperor - Palpatine's life. In reality, the clone war was a conflict that was going to happen generations later than it did. It tore the jedi order apart, making cracks; jedi went rogue, died, or deserted the republic altogether. In the end, the clone troopers that had served by the jedi for three years betrayed them. The worst part, as Kanan described it, was that he - and the vast majority of the jedi - _knew_ that order 66 was thing.

If a jedi went rogue, or betrayed the republic, the order was enacted. Instead, it had been used to eradicate the order in one massive swoop.

Ezra had never seen a battle droid - or _any_ CIS property in his life - and now he was going to walk into the bantha's den.

When the group of four reached the main entrance to the outpost, Sabine instinctively reached toward her waist, retrieving a small, and very lethal, thermal detonator. Placing it in the center of the blast door, she set the timed charge and took several steps back. While tense moments passed, Zeb, Kanan, and Ezra all covered their eyes to protect from shrapnel, whilst Sabine smiled slightly behind her helmet when the durasteel of the door burst open, white hot for a few seconds, then cool.

She was glad to know that blowing things up was still just as satisfying.

Kanan's arms drifted to him waist, and he mentally commanded Ezra to do the same. Feeling his fingers close around his lightsaber, Ezra felt a small smile tug at the edges of his cracked, near-frozen lips.

Sabine was the first to enter through the vaguely human-sized hole she'd made. The mandalorian studied the old consoles and displays as they puttered along, cracked displays showing long forgotten holonet clips and irrelevant statistics. Ezra stepped in after her, his hood falling back as he straightened himself. Sabine's eyes were immediately drawn by the sound, studying his features with familial worry; his eyes seemed _slightly_ more alive than the last time she saw them, with flecks of happiness in the blue irises. A small, blue-black stubble adorned his chin, something he either didn't or couldn't care about at the moment. His hair was in a familiar faux-shaggy fashion, with a few white spots that came from the snowstorm.

Overall, in Sabine's opinion, Ezra looked far better than he was the week before, but that wasn't saying much.

When Ezra noticed Sabine's staring, he gave her a pointed look before raising the hood again. Sabine internally sighed then blushed lightly when she realised Zeb and Kanan had been watching her. This was going to be a _long_ mission.

* * *

 **AN: Hi. I said I'd do my best to keep to my schedule, and I am. So...here's another chapter. ;) I don't have much else to say other than that to say. So here's a terrible Segway into my outro! Any follows, favs, and reviews will be duly noted. - Raging Celiac**


	16. Chapter 16: Mauling Of the Mind, reprise

**The more** Sabine studied the outpost, the more she was curious. The walls were had a small amount of rust, mainly in the corners. The flag of the confederacy still hung on a few of the walls they passed; a tattered memorie of a time forgotten. Sabine had studied her military history (she wouldn't have become an officer before she was sixteen if she didn't) and the clone war always interested her.

The mandalorian couldn't fathom how Kanan was reacting to the outpost - he'd fought _in_ the clone war. But as had been doing in the past weeks, her mind drifted to Ezra.

Overall, he'd been the little brother she'd never had. Except this brother flirted with her, wasn't an empire loyalist, and was force sensitive. The flirting had faded after about six months of being shot down (he was persistent, she'd give him that). When it stopped, they were more brother and sister after that, with occasional looks coming from Ezra - something Sabine always caught. It was, when Sabine looked back, part annoying and part entertaining.

Entertaining when it was looked back on, but annoying when it was experienced. Thankfully by fifteen the flirting had stopped. Ezra's parents had been killed by the empire, so he certainly wasn't helping them anytime soon. The force sensitivity though…

It confused the everliving kriff out of Sabine.

The mandalorian wasn't raised in an environment that valued it. The "force" as Kanan and Ezra called it, was only accessible to a select, seeming random few beings. From what Sabine could tell, this was completely random and up to chance. Often she wondered-

"Sabine, plant a charge on that door." Kanan's voice cut into her thoughts. Sabine nodded, barely focused on the charge or the door it was meant to destroy; her thoughts were already drifting back to the past.

* * *

Ezra, though, was worried. Worried not because of anything obvious - it was what _wasn't_ obvious that kept the youth worried.

The force was enigmatic, endless confusing to even the most experienced of masters. So, to the fifteen year-old, the vibe emanating from the outpost was unnerving, to say the least. Kanan sensed this, asking,

" _Ezra, what's wrong? What do you sense?"_

The aforementioned youth shook his head, his hood shifting silently.

" _I...don't know. It's just...I can't say - it's like, l-like something's watching."_ Ezra responded uncertainly, Kanan gave his apprentice an appraising look behind his hood before focusing on the hall ahead; several indentations had been made in the walls, something Kanan recognized were made for blast doors. Sabine and Zeb seemed to notice this, yet Ezra was preoccupied with figuring out exactly what he was feeling through the force.

The stride the four shared was boring to Ezra, who barely noticed where they were going to a crossroads in the hallway. Three different options, three different possibilities. Ezra honestly planned to just follow Kanan; he trusted the former jedi than himself at the moment.

The youth's mind began to drift, settling itself out of the mission, blindly following the group. They were nearing the end of the hallway when Ezra felt something. Not a vague sense that something was off, no.

This was as certain as the permacrete he was walking on.

Ezra's forward movement stalled; Kanan immediately turned to face his apprentice.

"Ezra, what's wrong?" He asked, urgency clawing at his tone. Sabine and Zeb, for their part, turned to face the teen as well. The trio of beings all stared at Ezra, Sabine the first to speak.

"Ez, what's going on?" Ezra blinked: that was an old nickname, for sure. Zeb had similar sentiments, voicing them similar to his mandalorian counterpart. Kanan simply stared, attempting vainly to enter his apprentice's mind. He encountered one problem though: Ezra had sealed his utterly.

"Ezra, what's wrong?" Kanan said again, legitimate fear rising now.

Ezra simply stared at his crewmates, eyes darting wildly between them; an insidious shiver ran down his spine. His hand drifted toward his hip, fingers wrapping firmly around the handle of his lightsaber. A pain in his head starting to spread. Within seconds the outpost before him began to swirl, like water when hit by a pebble; The faces of his comrades were soon replaced, eerily, with the masks he'd come to associate with inquisitors.

Sabine's wildly painted armor turned black, as did Zeb's jumpsuit. The black cloak Kanan wore was still there, though now his hand was at his side. Ezra's eyes widened, staring at the three with disbelief and complete terror. Taking a step back, Ezra's hand darted to his hip. The lightsaber he'd crafted all those months ago offered a small comfort. Kanan, Zeb, and Sabine all took steps towards Ezra simultaneously, only furthering the teen's will to flee.

Ezra backtracked several times more, his crewmates- what he saw as inquisitors - mimicking him. Sabine looked toward zeb in confusion; something Ezra saw as conspiratorial. More steps back brought Ezra to the middle of the cross section.

Three different options, three different possibilities.

* * *

Maul felt sweat sliding down his forehead. The altar before him was made the same twisted stone was the cave he resided in; a dull, yet emanating gray had a half of hemisphere cut into it. It wasn't made by physical labor; It had been made by magic.

Dark magic, if Maul was to be precise.

The liquid that filled the altar was customary dathomirian water. Maul raised a hand to his forehead, preparing for the next step of his attack.

This would be indescribably difficult, and would probably exhaust Maul very quickly: This step was taking control.

This wasn't an easy task; a mind was a holodisk to be read. It was a complex set of nerves, memories, and in the case of force-sensitives, intense resistance. Ezra's could've been cracked within days, Maul was sure. Yet the dathomirian had hoped his apprentice would eventually be forced, out of necessity, to use his inner darkness to defend his mind. The boy had surprised maul in the first few days, and even more as a week passed; the youth learned after every night, making that extra bit of difficult for him.

That one week turned into two, when Maul had grown weary of playing the metaphorical game of mouse and lothcat. So he pushed, broke Ezra, and had waited.

Maul had only chosen now because he saw what the outpost had to offer: the security forces, while not particularly dangerous to Ezra, might just exhaust him enough so that Maul could finally take control.

All the youth needed was some pushing.

And Maul was perfectly willing to push.

* * *

 **AN: Ah. Mentally torturing my favorite characters. It never gets old. The dynamic between Maul and Ezra is just so much fun to write! I hope this chapter was enjoyable to read; any reviews/follows/favorites will be duly and happily noted. - Raging Celiac**


	17. Chapter 17: The Greatest Mind Trick, 1

**Ezra's breathing** rate was increasing. Inquisitors. Here, now? Ezra honestly wanted to freeze; the old primordial urge to flee in the face of adversity was strong in the youth at the moment. The inquisitors (in reality Kanan, Sabine, and Zeb) all took steps forward - at the same time. Ezra had observed similar movements in the other inquisitors he'd encountered: it only increased his panic. The teen paced back until he was at a three-direction fork; one hall he recognized: it was the corner he'd turned only minutes before. That hall was to his left, and closest to the most broad inquisitor of the bunch. The hall to his right was identical to the one to his left. There was an option behind him, but it appeared to be a dead end.

A million different expletives flew across Ezra's mind, and the hand holding his lightsaber shook lightly. The blade dipped, it's tip scorching the floor beneath ir for a moment before shooting back up and settling at the same level as Ezra's waist. Glancing around once more, the teen took a step to his right. None of the inquisitors did the same, simply directing their helmeted heads to follow him. Unnerving tugged at Ezra's psyche. He took another step. No reaction. Still watching the inquisitors, Ezra stepped right again. No reaction. Again.

Emboldened slightly, Ezra took another step, using the momentum from his first step to increase the speed of his second.

Now the inquisitors reacted. One drew the blasters at their hip while one took a bo-rifle from their back.

The last drew a lightsaber.

Ezra, who at this point was sprinting down the hall that was once to his right, glanced back; the three inquisitors were all in pursuit. One carried twin WESTAR blaster pistols while the other two had a bo-rifle and lightsaber, respectively. The inquisitor with the lightsaber - whom Ezra assumed was the leader - shouted:

"Set your blasters to stun - we need to get him back to the _Ghost_!" They had the _Ghost_ too? This wasn't good.

Not in the slightest.

Ezra saw a blue, ring-shaped stun bolt slam into the floor slightly ahead of him. Panic rising, he focused solely on the blastdoor ahead of him. With adrenaline flooding into his system, his force abilities were enhanced. As such, Ezra sensed another stun bolt rocketing towards his back. Flattening himself to the floor, Ezra watched as the bolt soared over to where his back had been; the bolt instead continued to fly down the hall. Wasting no time, Ezra kicked himself up, a small scorch mark being made as his lightsaber blade rose with him.

Ezra was barely aware of how fast he was moving, too focused on dodging the multitude of blaster bolts that flew at him. The first signs of fatigue began to creep into the youth when Ezra reached the at the end of the hall, dug his blade in the control panel next to it, and twisted. As it dug into the wiring of the panel, the blade struck the right wire, and the blast door slid open.

Thanking his lucky stars, Ezra spun and deflected two stun bolts sent by the inquisitors; one flew directly back at the caster, causing them to emit a squeak of surprise before collapsing to the ground. The other went wild, striking one of the CIS outpost's security cameras. The inquisitor in a black cloak turned to their remaining comrade, shouting,

"Take her back to the _Ghost_! I'll handle Ezra!" The inquisitor being addressed nodded, taking the inquisitor Ezra had knocked out by the waist, carrying them bridal style and turning to sprint in the opposite direction Ezra was going.

Ezra turned to face the remaining inquisitor, just as the lighting shifted from fluorescence to red. Sirens began to blare, and Ezra stared at the remaining inquisitor. The blade in his hand was steady; he wasn't going down easy. The final inquisitor stared back, their red blade dipping slightly.

Then the blast door shut.

* * *

This mission had been an interesting one for Zeb. And by interesting I mean confusing as all kriff.

For the first time in weeks, Zeb felt completely out of his depth; Ezra had always intrigued him, but this mission he was...strange. Stranger than normal, that is.

It had been going well until the teen seemingly lost his mind. He'd turned on them. Why? Zeb had no idea.

The lasat froze mid stride as the fluorescence of the outpost's lights turned ruby. Alarms began to blare, too, adding to the din. Blast doors shut with scarily sharp _bangs_ one-by-one behind Zeb. The former honor-guard realized he was in the middle of one of where these blast doors would close, and dived to desperately into the space between it and the blast door that followed it.

Zeb touched the ground just as the blast door behind him slammed shut. Due to where the doors shut, the blaring alarms were drowned out by the thick durasteel of the blast doors directly behind and in front of the lasat. A small moan exited Sabine, and Zeb, in surprise, nearly dropped her. Sighing to himself, Zeb gingerly rose with Sabine in his arms and set the mandalorian down against one of the walls.

Removing her helmet, Zeb scanned for any sign of injury on the mandalorian's head. There were none, and Zeb set Sabine's helmet behind him. Inspecting the mark on Sabine's armor - no doubt caused by the stun bolt Ezra had deflected - It was just above Sabine's left breast, and the lasat unzipped the suit just enough to reveal the blaster mark. It was nasty alright: with cauterized skin that made Zeb gag. His furry hand shot back when the mandalorian let out a soft moan of pain. _Okay, I'll just not touch it then._ Zeb thought.

Carefully, the lasat removed the breastplate of Sabine's armor. The suit under it also had a scorch mark. Zeb wondered vaguely what the Sabine's blasters had been set to as he took a syringe of pain killer from the first aid kit on his waist. He also took out a small vial of disinfectant and a cloth. Finding a vein in Sabine's neck, he pressed the needle to it and ignored the hiss of pain it elicited. Zeb poured a small amount of the disinfectant on the cloth and dabbed it lightly on Sabine's wound. Sabine jerked back slightly, and Zeb set a furry hand on her shoulder. He pressed the cloth to the wound again, holding Sabine's shoulder and stopping from jerking back.

The former honor-guard repeated the routine several times, until he was satisfied that the wound wouldn't get infected. Once he was done, the lasat tossed put the cloth, disinfectant, and needle back into his first aid kit, letting his shoulders slump with fatigue.

Now he had to wait.

The only way out was blowing through each blast door individually, and he wasn't gonna trust himself with explosives anytime soon. He leaned against the wall across from Sabine, his head leaned against his left shoulder. His breathing slowed and Zeb felt increasing difficulty with keeping his eyelids open, and soon darkness embraced him.

* * *

 **AN: And so, Zeb and Sabine were separated from Kanan, new opportunities arose for Maul and they lived happily ever af - nah, I'm just kidding. Maul isn't going to live happily ever after, if the crew of the** _ **Ghost**_ **have any say in it. Also, Nearly seven thousand views! Hooray! The amount of views this story has is nearly three fold what this actual communitie's number of fanfics is! That's kinda depressing when you think about it. -_-**

 **Anyhoo, and reviews/favs/follows will be duly noted - Raging Celiac**


	18. Chapter 18: The Greatest Mind Trick, 2

**Kanan blinked** as the blast door shut. The loud _bang!_ as the twenty year-old metal slammed together. Having been in between where the indentations were made, a blast door shut behind the former jedi, leaving with a blaring alarm and dust-coated light as company.

For a moment Kanan processed what had happened; in less than ten minutes Ezra had gone from an ally to a crazed hawk-bat. Kanan, Sabine, and Zeb had given chase - and failed. _He'd_ failed. Failed to stop Maul; failed to notify the others; failed to prepare his apprentice. Now Ezra was probably lost, too.

But Kanan would be damned if he wasn't going to try and save him.

Yet, at that moment, Kanan remembered something - or more specifically, someone's. Zeb and Sabine.

The lasat was probably fine, but Kanan had his doubts about Sabine; the mandalorian was tough, sure, but that stun bolt had hit her pretty hard. Running a hand through his hair, Kanan let out a breath, practicing the breathing exercises his master had taught him. Within minutes, Kanan had his breathing down to a normal level. Looking at the situation, Kanan saw two options: leave Ezra and take Sabine and Zeb back to the _Ghost_ , and accept the heat the rebellion would give him, or attempt to save his apprentice and make his way to Zeb and Sabine afterwards.

" _Yes, a difficult choice, isn't it?"_

Kanan's blade, which had previously been brushing against the permacrete of the outpost, shot up, scorching the floor. He looked around; nobody was near him.

" _I see idiotic minds think alike,"_

That voice was familiar…

"Maul." Kanan growled, "How are you talking to me?" He demanded of the dathomirian. There was cruel laughter that echoed throughout Kanan's mind.

" _A bond."_ Maul stated simply. When Kanan didn't respond, he continued. _"No words? Your apprentice tried that: it didn't work."_ Kanan lowered his tip, and began to let his anger out into the force.

" _Let me guess...you're letting your feelings out into the force, right?"_ kanan blinked, then closed his eyes again.

" _No matter. Ezra will be mine - soon enough."_ Something in Kanan raised its head, sniffing around until it found what it was looking for.

" _Don't tell me you're trying more si-"_ Maul's voice stopped mid-sentence, before crying out in anger. Kanan, meanwhile, was beginning to sweat; developing a bond was simple enough, but breaking one was far and ways more difficult. Kanan grit his teeth, focused harder on the bond. In moments, he grasped it; he felt a pain beginning in the back of his head shortly afterward. Nonetheless, Kanan pushed forward, twisting and stretching the bond with his apprentice. The pain in his head increased, but the former jedi pushed on.

In moments, the bond began to show the signs of tattering; biting his lower lip, Kanan drew more from his rapidly draining reserves of force power. The pain in Kanan's head was omni-present now. With one final, desperate push, Kanan took the last of his energy reserve.

Maul's scream of frustration was cut off when Kanan's bond with Ezra snapped in two, and Kanan opened his eyes. His dropped to his knees, letting his shoulders slump and an exhausted breath exit him. After a few moments, the former jedi turned on his heel, raising his blade as he did so.

Walking up to the blast door behind him, Kanan gripped the lightsaber with both hands and drove it into the durasteel of the blast door. Ignoring the soreness in his arms, the former jedi made a roughly circle-shaped hole with his lightsaber. It was a slow, grinding process, but Kanan pushed harder, gritting his teeth.

When the hole had been completed, he stepped back and wound his wrist back. Focusing his energy, the former jedi thrust his arm forward. The durasteel he'd cut flew back, slamming into the a blast door behind it.

Bending over, Kanan made his way through the hole and approached the next blast door.

This was going to a long mission.

* * *

Thirty minutes and at least a dozen doors later Kanan reached Zeb and Sabine. Kanan was deactivating his lightsaber when the pair glanced up; Sabine immediately ran up to him; her face was tear stained.

"Kanan!" she shouted, speed Kanan had never seen from the mandalorian propelling her right in front of the jedi, "What the _hell_ was that?" Kanan looked momentarily confused, then sighed.

"I think Maul's finally gone and done it," he responded, dejected. Zeb, who had been watching the exchange, piped up.

"What do ya mean by 'done it'?" The lasat demanded, rising. "Because the way I see it, that kid betrayed us." Zeb started, rising from his sitting position. "So you better have kriffing good explanation for this," he growled. Kanan felt heat creeping up his cheeks as Sabine stood beside Zeb, a clear indication of her allegiances.

Under the pair of gazes, Kanan gave in.

"Maul attacked Ezra's mind - again. I don't know what he did but clearly Ezra thought we were enemies; for whatever reason." Zeb and Sabine didn't look overly convinced and both opened their mouths, yet Kanan held up a hand.

Giving the pair a tired, 'Don't even bother,' look that held a hint of anger. Zeb took this as a clear sign to stop immediately. Sabine, though, was near hysterical; she'd watched as Ezra collapsed; she'd attempted in vain to contact - talk to him. And now he seemed to have finally lost it. She was going to lose another brother.

The mandalorian's eyes had water at the edges, and her hands shook. Kanan, seeing the storm that was coming from the girl, pulled her in, wrapping his arms around her frame and rubbing her back.

"But I'm going to go get him," Kanan shot Zeb an authoritative look. "Try to contact Hera; tell her to bring the _Ghost_ to your signal." The lasat nodded, reaching for the comm on his waist and giving it a few taps before letting out a frustrated sigh.

"The blasted things not working," he groaned. Kanan nodded, cautiously releasing the mandalorian in his arms and approaching the blast door Zeb and Sabine hadn't managed to pass; he raised the hilt, wrapped his fingers around the handle and ignited it, driving into the durasteel with unprecedented determination.

He was going to get Ezra back - no matter what it took.

* * *

 **AN: A bit of a shorter one, but I needed to 'set the stage' for Ezra's bit. That should be fun to write. Also, a quick question: Am I good at writing the more heartfelt moments for this story? That's all I have to say for the moment, so any reviews/favs/follows will be duly noted. - Raging Celiac**


	19. Chapter 19: The Greatest Mind Trick, 3

**Ezra watched** as the blast door between him and the last inquisitor shut. Letting a sigh escape him, Ezra de-ignited his lightsaber. As the blade retracted, he searched the force for the inquisitor's force signature. As the adrenaline left him, Ezra probed the force; for a few moments he thought he might be getting somewhere, but then Ezra expected as much: Inquisitors were experts at concealing their force signatures. The fact that he couldn't get even a vague idea of where the inquisitor was didn't comfort him overmuch. Yet, there was at least three blast doors between him and them, so Ezra pushed the thought away.

Instead, he studied the room he was now stuck in: alarms blared, red lights affixed to the wall painted the durasteel around them in a harsh ruby light. Ezra was turned, and realised he was in _another_ hall. There were no indentations but there was something else: pods. Pods with droids, specifically. Ezra counted at least two dozen of them; inside was a type of droid he'd never seen before. Their mechanical frames had pauldrons on their right shoulders and what Ezra guessed was staffs in their right hands. Capes, with long-unattended simmersilk was curled around the droids' frames. Ezra couldn't make out their faces, and prayed he'd never have to.

Re-igniting his lightsaber, Ezra strode down the hall, whilst attempting to quell his worries about the inquisitor. They were terrifying to him - no matter what he might've told Sabine. He wasn't incompetent with a lightsaber - far from it - but they were just… better. In every way: faster, stronger, more quick-witted. Add another reason. Ezra doubted that he could survive an encounter with one right now.

His thoughts carried him into the room the hall lead to: consoles were bolted to the walls, their various keyboards and switches something Ezra didn't care about. A fine layer of dust rest atop them; clearly the maintenance droids hadn't been active in awhile. Switches, levers, and knobs that probably once had a larger purpose once, now useless. Not that he would've been able to use them, in any case. A center console was in the exact center of the room, resting on a slightly raised slab of durasteel. Ezra approached it with curiosity, careful to keep his blade away from the thing; the outpost was already in a lockdown of some sort, he didn't want to know what would happen if the console was damaged. The teen took note of the dust that had accumulated on the console's surface. Ezra brushed away some of the dust and immediately withdrew his hand. He sank to his knees, hissing in pain and digging his nails into his scalp.

"Karabast," he murmured. Ezra sluggishly slung on of his arms over onto the console's surface, trying and failing to support himself with it. Ezra could feel his consciousness ebbing away second-by-second as the pain somehow got even worse. With clenched teeth, the youth threw both arms onto the console before him in abandon. Mustering his dwindling strength, Ezra pushed down on the console with his arms, just managing to get his elbows to where he could use them for support.

The agony continued.

It refused to stop; soon Ezra was feeling lightheaded. His lightsaber fell from his hand, deactivating as it clattered to the ground and rolled off the platform it's owner was struggling to stay upright on. Ezra's breath came through labored gasps; his eyelids felt too heavy to keep open. His arms had never felt this heavy before. Ezra could barely formulate thoughts in the wake of the pain. Ezra had never hated his head more than he did at that moment.

Time may have lost meaning to Ezra, but when the pain came to a merciful end, he was ready to hibernate like a particularly tired banta.

Forcing himself up, Ezra steadied against the main console. Sweaty palms attracted dust. Ezra, after feeling well enough to stand, did his best to shake the dust off of his hands. He looked around for his lightsaber and extended his hand. The hilt flew to his hand, and Ezra ignited it. Golden light touched Ezra's face, calming him somewhat.

He let out a breath, running a hand through his messy hair. His hand came back moisturized, and Ezra shook the water off it. He stepped down off the raised platform with the main console, feeling slightly better.

The alarms and klaxon sounds were still heard by Ezra, but he did his best to ignore them. What he couldn't ignore, though, were the two droids that entered the room. They held electro-staffs. Ezra bit his lower lip in exasperation and anger. He raised his blade, frustration building.

Today, everything in his life somehow got worse. What did the universe want from him? Suicide? Glaring at the droids whilst cursing everything, Ezra charged them.

* * *

 **AN: So… it's been a month. Sorry. I had trouble writing this chapter for a few reasons: 1: I was burnt out. 2: I started another story. And 3: I'm lazy. I won't say when the next chapter will come out, but it** _ **will**_ **be done… some time. :/ Any reviews/follows/favs will be duly noted.**


	20. Chapter 20: The Greatest Mind Trick, 4

**Ezra's charge** at the droids was fueled by anger; frustration, to be accurate.  
Everything since the mission to Malachor V had been one long, laborious slog through ever-increasing amounts of problems for the teen.

Maul forming a connection with him was a large protrusion into Ezra's happiness and emotional well-being; he'd tormented him, played a mental slugging match that Ezra by that point had realised was a farce.

The teen was sick of it; of life screwing him over; of the universe's seemingly endless attempts at simultaneously ripping apart his relations with the _Ghost_ crew and his dedication to the light.

The droid's turned with mechanical whirrs as metal joints grinded against each other. The electro staffs in one of the pair's hands thrusted out toward Ezra's neck, a move he countered with furious teenage grit.

Immediately after his blade pushed the droid's electro staff downward, Ezra riposted, his blade making a swing for the droid's midsection, moving diagonally upward to the right. By this time the second droid of the pair had begun its own movements, too.

It jabbed on end of its electro staff towards Ezra's left oblique, forcing him to break off his attack on the first droid in a desperate attempt to block it. The teen's lightsaber blade closed the gap, striking the electro staff's tip with a satisfying crackle. Yet the first droid of the pair had begun its counter to Ezra's riposte.

Forced to break off a possible attack _again_ Ezra opted to jump back several paces, hoping to buy himself some breathing room. But the droids weren't hindered by stamina; they didn't have pesky things like muscles that got tired, or ever needed any respite.

They moved in unison, one taking Ezra's left side and the other covering his right. he glared at them for a moment, then the action began once again.

Ezra's blade was blur; forced to cover two flanks with one weapon, he opted for a strategy of high movement. Desperation fueled the strategy itself; he'd perry one thrust from one of the droids, then spin out of the way of the second's attempt to capitalize on his exposed flank. This cycle was continuous, with Ezra and the droid's moving in a faux-circle around the main console. Ezra found that he could barely sustain it.

Barely, but able.

He poured every bit of his abilities into his limbs: it was the only way he could fight the droids. Ezra might have spoken, taunted the droids; smart comments his admittedly pitiful form of psychological warfare. But that wouldn't affect droids; even ones like Chopper were just personalities. They could act like a sentient being, but in the end it was a computer formulating their responses rather than a brain. Ezra made a slash as an electro-staff tip came hurtling toward his side. At that same moment, the another tip did the same towards Ezra's chest. Ezra moved on instinct. His blade met the first tip, a crackle coinciding with the tip being pushed away from him. Then he leaned back, moving his blade arm upward and cutting off the tip that threatened his chest. Ezra jumped back after that.

The droid who had their electro-staff cut was still for a millisecond, then their programing had the other end of their weapon pointed at Ezra. They lunged again. Ezra blocked their attack, spinning out of the way of their friend's staff as it jabbed toward his left bicep. Hair wild, eyes focused and emotions high, Ezra somersaulted away, catching a tip to his achilles on the way. He landed sloppily, grunting as he did so. He was on his literal back foot now. The droids bounded forward, once again attacking Ezra from high and low. This time Ezra was slower, the pain in his heel slowing his movements. It hurt his concentration. He stopped a tip that came close to his core at the last second, getting his in his eye a moment later. Ezra's weapon moved upward with no time to spare as it directed the tip that was perilously close to his neck over his right shoulder.

In a blur of adrenaline and speed, Ezra's desperation reached it's crescendo. His heel screaming, muscles tired, he was forced to give continual ground, leading him back into the hall that had lead him into the room in the first place. The pods where the droids came from were open. Aware of the fact that he was, if continued at his current pace, going to run into the closed blast doors within moments. Risking everything, Ezra reached out behind him and pulled the wiring of the security door so it opened. It did so.

That few-moment break cost Ezra though. The droids' combined actions, despite the several minutes Ezra had faced them, never slowed. Their mechanical parts whirred, their programming allowing them to work in perfect sync. Perhaps they were connected via a shared server, Ezra thought. He dismissed the thought as one lunged toward his feet while the other went for his chest again. Tired, battered, and beaten, Ezra's mind registered that he couldn't fight this.

No matter how fast he moved, he couldn't move his arms from his feet to chest or vice versa in time to stop both tips. He wouldn't survive this pass. There simply wasn't a way. So he did his best.

Ezra blocked the tip that was near to his chest, smacking it out of the way and only a moment later being hit by the tip that threatened his feet. Everything slowed for Ezra as he fell to one knee. He saw the droid face as one of the pair of droids began to lower their electro-staff towards his head. His mind was panicking. It didn't want to die. His memories were flashing before his vision.

Everything he'd done, good or bad, was shown to him. The pain of his childhood; roughness of his early teen years; his adventures with the _Ghost_ crew. The excruciating pain Maul put him through; losing Ahsoka on Malachor V. He'd survived everything the galaxy had put him through. He'd fought inquisitors and held his own. He'd faced down entire squads of stormtroopers without blinking.

His mind refused to let itself die to this.

Something deep from inside Ezra exploded; his limbs felt rejuvenated; his mind was clear. Extending a bruised hand, Ezra opened it shoved the arm it was attached to forward and throwing the droids backward. They went screaming down the hall, AI's unable to find a way to avoid their destruction. Their programming, meticulously crafted by CIS engineers, had protocols in place for fighting force-sensitives, and those protocols had worked. Yet at the speed they were moving it was impossible for their computers to survive.

Ezra was glaring as the droids' AI were simultaneously at a loss to save themselves. His hair was unkempt, eyes slits in anger. A thin yellow ring was around his blue irises. The droids slammed into the wall, AI's pulverized and limbs finally going still. Ezra rose to both feet; battered, bruised, and broken, but still the victor.

Then he collapsed.

* * *

 **AN: Hi there. This was a difficult chapter to write, honestly. There's only so many ways you can describe someone parrying things. Still, it was fun, and I'm not done with Ezra yet. Ohhhhh no. He's got a difficult path ahead of him, and I hope you'll enjoy what have in store** **for him. Any reviews/follows/favorites will be duly noted. - Raging Celiac**


	21. Chapter 21: The Greatest Mind Trick, 5

**Maul's lips** formed into a cruel, satisfied smile.

Ezra was his. The boy had fallen perfectly into his web; making him turn against his allies had been too easy; now he was his.

The security forces had served him perfectly. The magna droids Ezra had fought - and surprisingly well, too - made part of Maul believe that the force had orchestrated this for him. Ezra was, by everything he'd seen so far, meant to be his. Maul allowed himself a satisfied smirk.

The boy's 'master', Kanan Jarrus, had failed. His apprentice was Maul's now. Ezra's mind was open to him so utterly it might have been Maul's own. The zabrak sensed as Ezra fought how much he could do when properly motivated. Granted, the AI of each droid was a generation old at the least. Yet it wasn't that Ezra had fought two maga droids simultaneously and won that gave Maul satisfaction: it was how the boy did it.

He charged the droids with frustration, at his situation mainly, Maul knew. He read Ezra's thoughts as he charged, and noticed how angry they were; it had made Maul smirk let out mirthful chuckle.

The boy had fought angry; the antithesis of everything his mentor had taught him. It fueled each of his strikes, making them heavy with sixteen-years worth of pent-up frustration at the universe. Maul could understand; he'd seen all Ezra had been put through by fate. Not that it gained him any sympathy from the zabrak; it only gained him more ways of torture. The type of torture that could never be fully expressed, as noone who knew the boy could empathize with him. In essence, the perfect tool to use when he got Ezra to Dathomir.

Alas, he had to _get_ the boy to Dathomir first.

Not an impossible feat. A difficult one, certainly; even with all that Maul had done, this was unprecedented for him. Other sith could have accomplished this - the feats attributed of the ancient sith and those of the Bane lineage were legendary - but Maul was not within their ranks. This whole business with Ezra was a risk-laden affair to a degree Maul was unfamiliar with. The only comparison he had was Kenobi, but the jedi in that case was unpredictable in a physical sense. Ezra was unpredictable in a metaphysical sense. Taking total control of his mind and body would be temporary; Maul wasn't the force magick adept Talzin had been. But, Ezra's mental defenses were already shattered.

But, it seemed, the boy had some fight left in him.

Despite being downtrodden horribly, Ezra's will was intact. And it made it infuriatingly difficult for Maul to make progress. He fought for every single metaphorical inch like an alley cat did for scraps from behind a popular restaurant. And, much to Maul's shock, he found it impossible to succeed. In Maul's state, at least; after at least two hours of wrestling with complicated and unwieldy nightsister rituals, the zabrak was unable to sustain his efforts.

He withdrew.

He didn't falter; it was more that he realised he couldn't sustain the ritual. Sighing in frustration, Maul opened his eyes.

The basin had the same appearance as when he started; the stone was still just as unnerving. Maul became aware of the sweat that saturated his brow. He relaxed his hands, the first vestiges of fatigue spreading throughout him. He purged all those vestiges. Instead he sat and crossed his legs. Meditation, no matter how he might have been displeased with it early in his training, was the best choice.

Before he'd been sure that Ezra was his, but now part of him questioned that. The boy, despite having been beaten down mentally for going on a month now, hadn't had his will broken. Maul, as much as it stung his pride, had to admit that the boy had will. But will was finite, Maul also knew, and as such promised himself that he'd attack again, and this time succeed.

He considered it inevitable.

* * *

Kanan Jarrus felt mounting stress as he zeroed in on his apprentice's location. He'd spent at least fifteen standard minutes slicing through each door, each one with equally thick durasteel. He hadn't smelt nor felt ozone like that since his days Depa Billaba. Bending over to go through the holes made his back complain within moments. Crouching and un-crouching repeatedly made his body complain to him vehemently. Kanan ignored the nerve signals, focused solely on finding Ezra.

Within a quarter of an hour he had arrived to the blast door that had separated him and Ezra earlier.

It was open.

Kanan was unnerved. He saw the mangled remains of two magna droids, their bodies in a collective pile. Their electro-staffs were still clutched in their robotic hands, yet the equivalent for eyes the droids had were no longer glowing. Pods lined the walls of the hallway, each containing a magna droid with electro-staff included. Two were open, presumably the ones lying against the wall at the other end of the hall. This raised questions. Significant and perturbing questions.

Kanan saw that Ezra's cloak was singed in several places. The ex jedi felt uncertainty wash over him. Getting to one knee next to his apprentice, Kanan turned Ezra over so he saw his face. It seemed fairly normal, and he almost looked at peace; his eyes were closed, and shoulders rising and falling with regular rhythm. His hair was unkempt and darkened with sweat. Kanan frowned.

"What happened to you, Ezra?"

He didn't receive a response from his apprentice. He, much like the force at the moment, was silent. Kanan's more paternal part urged him to grab Ezra and run, abandoning the base and bringing his apprentice back to Yavin IV. But if he did, he might not know what secrets the base held. Kanan checked Ezra's pulse, and once satisfied that he was stable, Kanan proceeded cautiously down the hallway.

He turned a corner and was met with a control room of a sort, much like the holos he'd been shown from other Separatist outposts captured by the republic. A single console was in the center of the room, on an elevated pedestal. More consoles lined the walls, all sharing a fine layer of dust. Kanan walked up to the main console, finding the switch to turn it on and flicking it. A red ball sprung up.

" _Good rotation, sir. Please identify yourself."_ It said. Kanan's frown deepened.

Were he to identify himself the droids in the hallway he'd walked through would probably activate and target him - or worse, Ezra. He realised then how unprepared they'd been. Sighing, Kanan turned, promising himself that the situation would be resolved.

Turning, unsatisfied, Kanan made his way back to Ezra and carried him out of the outpost, taking at least double the time he took initially. The outpost became one mass a of durasteel and permacrete as a numb Kanan began to process what he thought had happened over the last few hours.

Ezra had turned on them, running away from the only people he possibly trusted; he'd knocked Sabine out for at least two hours - she rarely did anything in halves. Then he was separated from them for at least three hours and _then_ Kanan found him lying in a heap, on the floor with two magna droids at least a dozen meters away from him; not the mention the fact that they were mangled, too.

Kanan sighed. A moment after he did so, he jumped as Ezra stirred. His movement stopped as he blinked several times, opening his eyes up a crack and then immediately closing them. He looked weak. After Ezra could keep his eyelids open for more than a few seconds, Kanan asked,

"Can you walk?"

That would've gotten a snarky remark a year ago. Now all it got Kanan was a nod. Slowly, Kanan let Ezra down towards the floor. The teen steadied himself within moments. He lowered his hood, which had fallen to cover his face. Ezra then looked up at Kanan; his face was contorted into intense regret.

"I-I'm sorry," He sputtered. "I honestly don't know what happened…" ezra sighed, "It just happened so suddenly; you guys just morphed into inquisitors," kanan's brow shot up behind his mask. His hood was down, too, and his eyes narrowed, though it wasn't seen by Ezra; not that the teen would need any signs like that. His story sounded preposterous. And Ezra understood that fact.

"Look, I don't know how or why it happened; it just did. I saw three inquisitors and ran."

Kanan's lips formed into a frown.

"Is this you or Maul talking, Ezra?" This statement should've gained an incredulous look, yet it didn't; instead Ezra shook his head grimly.

"Me... for now." Alarm sparked in Kanan's mind. _For now?_

"What'd you mean by 'For now.'?" ezra's eyes darkened.

"Maul went farther this time," ezra said, cringing a bit as Kanan's expression soured. "He attacked _me_ personally." kanan crossed his arms, stance showing suspicion. Ezra quickly clarified what he meant. "He tried to take control of me as a person," The teen stated, as matter-of-factly as he could.

"You know everybody except me isn't gonna believe that, right?" ezra nodded, looking, in rebellion of his situation, slightly hopeful.

"You believe me?" He asked. Kanan was silent for a few seconds.

"...I don't know." he finally said with a sigh, "If what you say is true, and Maul tried to take control, how do I know Maul isn't talking to me?" ezra blinked. A tense second passed; Kanan truly couldn't know if he was really talking to Ezra, and the latter couldn't prove it. There wasn't a code word to prove it, because even if there was, both Ezra and Kanan would have to know it - and Maul knew everything Ezra knew. Ezra's shoulders slumped.

" _Yes, there really_ _ **is**_ _no way for him to know, is there?"_ ezra grit his teeth. Kanan's frown deepened at that.

"You have to have faith in Ezra," The teen said sadly. While Kanan was thinking, Maul cut into Ezra's thoughts.

" _Do you have faith in_ _ **yourself**_ _,_ _apprentice?"_

* * *

 **AN: Hello there. Happy memorial day weekend (in the US, at least). I'm still on the fence with this chapter, but I hope it lives up to the standard of quality I have. Any reviews/follows/favs**


	22. Chapter 22: End Of the Line

**Ezra's face** was formed into an expression of weariness. With the _Ghost_ in hyperspace, Kanan had summoned every crew member to his quarters. There, Hera, Zeb and Sabine sat; the last of the three the closest and possibly the most worried. Hera was next to Kanan, whilst Zeb sat the farthest away from both Kanan and Ezra, his bo-rifle lying next to his crossed legs. Sabine's dual WESTAR blaster pistols were spread between her and Hera. Ezra and Kanan knew full well that the safeties were off. Kanan's lightsaber hung at his hip, along with Ezra's own. Ezra sensed the force barrier the ex jedi was maintaining, while he kept his own down.

Every precaution had been taken in case Maul would try for Ezra's person again; two blasters, both ready to fire, and with his lightsaber in Kanan's hands behind a force wall. That seemed to reassure Zeb and Hera, though Kanan and Sabine had their reservations. Ezra wasn't completely confident at this point that the reservations he had would be his own by the end of the day.

"Repeat that again." Hera said, exercising the matriarchal authority Ezra had grown accustomed to in his early months aboard the _Ghost_. He sighed.

"I told you," He began, staring Hera straight in the eye. He wouldn't have done that in the face of the twi'lek's authority before. "One minute I was walking down a hall, the next I saw three inquisitors." Ezra swiveled his eyes to met Sabine's which were narrowed in concealed worry and suspicion.

"I ran, got stuck in a room full of magda guards-" Ezra fell silent, sensing Kanan's urge to correct him. Ezra guessed the ex jedi had some type of grim respect for them. He certainly did. "Ma _g_ na guards-" Ezra corrected himself, "And was forced to fight them. After I survived that, Maul attacked."

Ezra had been saying those exact words or a variation of them for the past thirty standard minutes. It didn't matter how much he repeated them, it seemed he couldn't satisfy anybody. Oh, Kanan did his best to hide his dissatisfaction, but Ezra had sensed the feeling within his mentor a few minutes earlier. Zeb finally rose, stretching in his unceremonious fashion.

"Well, kid, or whoever has been jawing at me for the past half-hour," He said. Ezra's face showed hurt for a moment before he masked it. Hera at that moment was glaring sourly at Zeb's fury face, whilst Kanan and Sabine caught Ezra's momentary slip. Sabine had been frowning from the beginning, and as Ezra had talked, and it got deeper. It deepened further, much to Ezra's increasing dismay, when the mandalorian saw hurt crossing face.

The door closed behind Zeb with a _hiss_ and Hera followed, to give what Ezra guessed was a very harsh talking to. The edges of his lips were beginning to form into a small smile. It was then extinguished by his cynical side, which pointed out that nothing was likely to come of it and he probably wouldn't get to see it.

Ezra rose without speaking, followed a respectable time later by Sabine. Eventually she'd tracked Ezra to his old bunk in Zeb's quarters. He sat on top of it, shoulders hunched temple resting against hands with intertwined fingers. He didn't seem to notice the mandalorian as she entered. The two were alone - well and truly alone. Zeb might come in, yet Saine was pretty sure he'd be punching or eating the stuffing out of something right now; the former because he viewed Ezra much in the vain Sabine did, like a younger brother, and the latter because he was hungry. Sabine cleared her throat. Ezra looked up, saw her, then directed his eyes back to his old bunk.

"Ezra," Sabine began, hesitating. She was unsure of how fragile Ezra might be, or if she was even talking to him. She wasn't sure if _he_ was even confident that she was talking to him.

"Are you alright?" _Goddamn it, Sabine._ The mandalorian chided herself. _That's the most-_

"I don't know if I'm myself." Ezra said. His tone was a flat; monotone. Not a guilty monotone, like when he got caught doing something, no. It was dead monotone; not the type Sabine had even gotten used to over the past week. This wasn't an attempt to push her away, yet it also wasn't necessarily an attempt to continue the conversation. The silence between them, for Sabine, was unbearable. With an unusual amount of hesitation for her, she approached the ladder that lead to Ezra's bunk. He didn't stop her when she climbed it, nor when she sat beside him.

For several moments Sabine was motionless; every time she'd dealt with Ezra in the beginning, his attempts at flirting made him dismissable; when the flirting had stopped, wandering eyes and hubris had made him amusing in a way. Now… nothing. Sabine was truly out of her element. So was Ezra, she reasoned, yet it still didn't give her any idea of what she was supposed to do. Part of her suggested a hug, while the other suggested simply staying the way she was. Then, suddenly, she felt a weight against her shoulders. Sabine's head swiveled toward the source of the weight, only to find that it was Ezra.

Ezra's head, specifically, but the rest of his left side soon joined the fray. Sabine felt heat creeping up her face. Brother and sister, or however they thought of each other, this was unprecedented. Yet Sabine found herself with a conundrum; if she moved, she'd risk Ezra waking up, and that situation would be intensely awkward. Yet if someone walked in…

 _Kriff it,_ Sabien thought to herself. If someone walked in, who said she had explain herself? She was doing more than the rest of the _Ghost_ crew right now.

* * *

Yavin IV, with it's dense and attractive forests, struck Sabine as incredibly sardonic at the moment. The cockpit of the _Ghost_ was engulfed in a somber silence. Every member of the crew, save Ezra, who Sabine was confident was sleeping as soundly as he could. Zeb sat to Sabine's left, leaned back in his chair with a resigned expression on his face. Kanan was as neutral as ever, while Hera's expression was of similar disposition. Sabine's face was a frown; the type that told people "Stay away from me". Of course, it was hidden behind her helmet, whose brightly painted exterior also felt sardonic at the moment.

The door to the cockpit slid by, revealing a cloak-wearing Ezra; it was the same he'd worn to Cholestar. Dirt-brown and with the hood raised, Sabine realised that had the hood completely obscured his face, she wouldn't have recognized him. The hood began to turn in her direction and she looked away.

The mandalorian's attention returned to Yavin's surface; she could just make out the temple The Alliance was using as a base. There was little activity, with only a smattering of ships landing or leaving into space. The _Ghost_ touched down on a landing pad, immediately surrounded from all sides with rebellion troopers. Hera lowered the boarding ramp, Ezra leaving the cockpit first. His boots clicked against the polished floor of the _Ghost_ in a fast-paced rhythm. Kanan was close behind him, with Zeb at his tail and Sabine lagging behind to stay with Hera. The pilot took a few moments to collect a small blaster pistol that fit snuggly into her breast pocket. Sabine saw worry in her eyes for a moment before they steeled themselves. The mandalorian followed behind her captain silently, blasters set, rarely, to stun.

Normally she had them with either the safeties off and in her cabin or on and on her person; with Ezra being the way he was recently, the safeties had been on constantly. Maul had ruled her home world once, and that came from cunning and machinations with the once-numerous criminal cartels that littered the pre-clone war galaxy. Now whatever was left of them were drifting from outer rim world to outer rim world, desperately avoiding Imperials or their peers. Sabine had once seriously considered serving the Black Sun - but Ketsu had stopped her from going down that path. Now Ezra was following that dark path; becoming fatalist, apathetic, and cripplingly isolated. And Sabine couldn't do anything about it.

* * *

Maul was once again before the nightsister altar; unnatural green light danced across his skeletal and drawn features, showing the tattoos that ran down his cheeks and nose. His eyes, a vibrant, disturbing shade of yellow reflected the altar's light. His hands once more gripped the ring of the basin, nails brushing lightly against the rock. Hs shoulders were hunched slightly, with his thin mouth in a determined frown. Ezra was asleep at the moment, but it would soon not be so. The boy hadn't been taken over before because Maul was fatigued - he wasn't so now. With a preparatory breath through his mouth and out his nose, Maul began the ritual.

Within minutes the color of the altar's water had changed from green to red; moments later it began to bubble; a few seconds after that, Maul delved once more into Ezra's psyche.

This time he met organised resistance, but resistance that when met with the full brunt of Maul's psychic might, crumbled fest enough. This time, when he got to Ezra as a being, he was demoralised; he'd watched his life collapse again. Watched as maul tore into his mind and used his own experiences against him.

After pushing against Ezra's will, it broke, and maul found total control.

He manipulated Ezra's body to leave the cabin he'd been assigned to with his mentor, grabbing his lightsaber via channeling Maul's force power through Ezra. Opening the door; two guards stood in Maul's way. One looked to see what had caused the door to open and, once more channeling the force through Ezra, Maul choked both guards to death slowly. When they fell, Maul had Ezra's body make it's way to a hangar, where he was met with several ships; most were fighters, unfit for Maul's purposes. Some were freighters, rusted and modified in an attempt to make them flyable. One, though, caught Maul's attention: it was shuttle, but more importantly, a shuttle whose class had hyperdrive capabilities.

Forcing Ezra's body to lead itself to him, Maul had it board the shuttle, whose boarding ramp was down, likely to do repairs. Whatever the reason was, Maul eventually, through Ezra's form, found and killed every being aboard. Most were unarmed, and went down with little effort, bar a bulky zebrak male with a vibroblade. Maul then directed Ezra's body to the cockpit. There he had it raise the boarding ramp and set a course for Dathomir's system. It wouldn't be on a map - Talzin had caused enough trouble for Sidious that he'd had the planet erased from Galactic records. Finally, Maul manipulated Ezra's body into going into one of the ship's cabins - dropping his lightsaber along the way - and breaking the locking mechanism, trapping it.

Confident that the routes he chose were obscure enough to not be found, and that any possibility of the ship being tracked was moot, Maul gave Ezra control of his body once more.

The road to this point had been long, too arduous, and complicated; but it was over. Ezra was Maul's to train; to make into whatever he wanted the youth to be. The boy's mentor didn't stop Maul, nor did any of his allies; there was a possibility of Sidious getting his way, yet maul doubted that. In the next few weeks, maul would take Ezra's malleable and shattered mind and mend it, repairing it with the dark side. Ezra was already fit, yet maul was sure turning him into what he was could be done; with a lightsaber, and given the correct circumstances, he could perform admirably. But he had so much more potential; he emanated the force, was a beacon of it. A beacon that could be changed to suit maul's purposes given enough time. The training would be brutal; a complete rebuilding of Ezra's psyche. And with maul as his master, Ezra could certainly be all those things. All he had to do was push.

And Maul was certainly willing to push.

* * *

 **AN: That's a wrap. I sincerely hope you've enjoyed what my mind has come up with since - god, has it been this long? - December. I originally considered giving this story a happy ending where Maul is beaten, but no; the situation I made would make that ending contrived or dumb. Still, though, I'm not done with Ezra yet, and it's still up in the air for me as to whether or not Maul will make Ezra his everlasting apprentice - I have an outline, but, how long before the first chapter is up I'm unsure. It could be a day, week, or even a month. I don't know.**

 **This has really been enjoyable for me; one of the main reasons I did this was because, in all honesty, there are numerous fanfics that aren't the best in this category. I can spend hours - a weekend, even - to write a chapter, yet other stories that might not have the same variety of vocabulary or many typos get two or three reviews overnight while I can and have easily struggled to get 1. I just don't get it - can any of you point me in the right direction for answers? I'm honestly baffled by this and it has really been bugging me as I wrote this story.**

 **Whoo. Rant over. I don't mean to offend, but I'm sure I will do so to some. Just needed to get that off my chest. And that's about it; thanks to Killerkitty641, UnfathomableFandoms, ja54591, and Rose Eclipse. You have been - UnfathomableFandoms especially - key in motivating me.**

 **Now the final paragraph; 12,463 views, 38 reviews, 49 follows and 35 favorites. That's several fold what my other stories have gotten, even when combined. I'd like to add a final thank you to just staying with me. Until Ezra gets tortured again. Any and all follows/favorites/reviews will be duly noted. - Raging Celiac**


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